ffis 

cfOsmcnc 


, 


HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 


HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 


Being  the  portions  of  that  nobleman's  life 

omitted  in  the  relation  of  his  Lady's 

story  presented  to  the  World  of 

Fashion  under  the  title  of 

A  Lady  of  Quality 


BY 


FRANCES  HODGSON  BURNETT 

W 


New  York 
CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS 

1897 


Copyright,  1897,  by 
Charles  Scribner's  Sons 


TROW  DIRECTORY 

PRINTING  AND   BOOKBINDING  COMP* 
NEW  YORK 


C/^ature  just  to  IMan  from  Ms  first 
hour,  he  need  not  ash  for  {Mercy;  then 
'tis  for  us — the  toys  of  feature — to 
be  both  just  and  merciful,  for  so  only 
can  the  wrongs  she  does  be  undone. 


912798 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  I 

PAGE 

The  Fifth  Day  of  April,  1676,  .      / 


CHAPTER  II 
"  He  is  the  King," /^ 

CHAPTER  III 
Sir  Jeoffry  Wildairs,       .        .        .        .        .        .26 

CHAPTER  IV 
"God  Have  Mercy  on  its  Evil  Fortunes,"     .        .    35 

CHAPTER  V 
My  Lord  Marquess  Plunges  into  the  Thames^        .    55 

CHAPTER   VI 
"No;  She  has  not  yet  Come  to  Court"       .        .    65 


viii  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER   YIl 

PAGE 

"'Tis  Clo  Wildairs,  Man— All  tbe  County  Knows 
the  Vixen" 77 

CHAPTER   Vlll 

In  which  my  Lady  Betty    Taniillion  writes  of  a 
Scandal, 92 

CHAPTER  IX 

Sir  John  Oxon   Lays  a  Wager  at  Cribb's  Coffee 
House, 707 

CHAPTER  X 
My  Lord  Marquess  rides  to  Camylott,  .        .        .7/9 

CHAPTER  XI 

"It  Might  Have  Been — //  Might  Have  Been!"      .  133 

CHAPTER  XII 

In  Which  is  Sold  a  Portrait,         .        .        .        .747 

CHAPTER  XIII 
"Your — Grace!" 158 


CONTENTS  ix 

CHAPTER  XI  IS 

I'AGE 

For  all  her  youth  —  there  is  no  other  woman  like 
her/'        ........  *79 

CHAPTER  XV 

And  'twas  the  town  rake  and  beauty  —  Sir  John 
Oxon,"      .....  •  190 


CHAPTER 
A  Rumour,      ...  •  /P7 

CHAPTER  XV  II 
As  Hugh  de  Mertoun  Rode,   .        .  .2/7 

CHAPTER  XV  111 
A  Night  in  which  my  Lord  Duke  Did  Not  Sleep,  .  235 

CHAPTER  XIX 

"  Then  you  might  have  been  one  of  those  -  'J      .  248 

CHAPTER  XX 
At  Camylott,  ........  26; 


x  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XXI 

PAGE 

Upon  the  Moor,       .......  274 

CHAPTER  XXII 

My  Lady  Dunstanwolde  is  Widowed,    .        .        .  299 

CHAPTER  XXIII 
Her  Ladyship  Returns  to  Town,     .        .        .        •  319 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
Sir  John  Oxon  Returns  Also,         . 


CHAPTER  XX  V 
To-morrow,     .....  •       •  35l 

CHAPTER  XXVI 
A  Dead  Rose,         .......  363 

CHAPTER  XXVII 

"'Twas  the  night  thou  hldst  the  package  in  the 
wall,"       ........  381 


CONTENTS  xi 

CHAPTER  XX ^ III 

PAGE 

Sir  John  Rides  out  of  Town,  .  394 

CHAPTER  XXIX 
At  the  Cow  at  Wickben, 405 

CHAPTER  XXX 
On  Tyburn  Hill,      .  42} 

CHAPTER  XXXI 

Their  Graces  Keep  Their  Wedding  Day  at  Camy- 
lott, .  440 

CHAPTER  XXXII 
In  the  Turret  Chamber— and  in  Camylott  Wood,    457 


HIS   GRACE    OF    OSMONDE 

CHAPTER  I 
The  Fifth  Day  of  Jlpril,  1676 

UPON  the  village  of  Camylott  there  had  rested 
since  the  earliest  peep  of  dawn  a  hush  of  affec 
tionate  and  anxious  expectancy,  the  very  plough- 
boys  going  about  their  labours  without  boisterous 
laughter,  the  children  playing  quietly,  and  the 
good  wives  in  their  kitchens  and  dairies  bustling 
less  than  usual  and  modulating  the  sharpness  of 
their  voices,  the  most  motherly  among  them  in 
truth  finding  themselves  falling  into  whispering 
as  they  gossiped  of  the  great  subject  of  the  hour. 

"  The  swallows  were  but  just  beginning  to  stir 
and  twitter  in  their  nests  under  the  eaves  when  I 
heard  the  horses'  hoofs  a-clatter  on  the  high 
road,"  said  Dame  Watt  to  her  neighbour  as  they 
stood  in  close  confab  in  her  small  front  garden. 
"  Lord's  mercy !  though  I  have  lain  down  expect 
ing  it  every  night  for  a  week,  the  heart  of  me 


2          HIS   GRACE   OF  OSMONDE 

leapt  up  in  my  throat  £«nd  I  jounced  Gregory 
with  a  thump  in  his  back  to  wake  him  from  his 
snoring.  '  Gregory,'  cries  I,  '  'tis  sure  begun. 
God  be  kind  to  her  young  Grace  this  day. 
There  goes  a  messenger  clattering  over  the  road. 
Hearken  to  his  horse's  feet.'  ' 

Dame  Bush,  her  neighbour,  being  the  good 
mother  of  fourteen  stalwart  boys  and  girls, 
heaved  a  lusty  sigh,  the  sound  of  which  was  a 
thing  suggesting  much  experience  and  fellow- 
feeling  even  with  noble  ladies  at  such  times. 

"  There  is  not  a  woman's  heart  in  Camylott  vil 
lage,"  said  she,  "  which  doth  not  beat  for  her  to 
day — and  for  his  Grace  and  the  heir  or  heiress 
that  will  come  of  these  hours  of  hers.  God  bless 
all  three ! " 

"  Lord,  how  the  tiny  thing  hath  been  loved  and 
waited  for! "  said  Dame  Watt.  "  'Tis  somewhat 
to  be  born  a  great  Duke's  child !  And  how  its 
mother  hath  been  cherished  and  kept  like  a 
young  saint  in  a  shrine  !  " 

"  If  'tis  not  a  great  child  and  a  beauteous  one 
'twill  be  a  wondrous  thing,  its  parents  being  both 
beautiful  and  happy,  and  both  deep  in  love," 
quoth  motherly  Bush. 

"Ay,  it  beginneth  well;  it  beginneth  well,"  said 
Dame  Watt — •"  a  being  born  to  wealth  and  state. 
What  with  chaplains  and  governors  of  virtue  and 
learning,  there  seemeth  no  way  for  it  to  go  astray 


HIS   GRACE   OF  OSMONDE          3 

in  life  or  grow  to  aught  but  holy  greatness.  It 
should  be  the  finest  duke  or  duchess  in  all  Eng 
land  some  day,  surely." 

"  Heaven  ordains  a  fair  life  for  some  new-born 
things,  'twould  seem,"  said  Bush,  "  and  a  black 
one  for  others ;  and  the  good  can  no  more  be  es 
caped  than  the  bad.  There  goes  my  Matthew  in 
his  ploughboy's  smock  across  the  fields.  'Tis  a 
good  lad  and  a  handsome.  Why  was  he  not  a 
great  lord's  son  ?  " 

Neighbour  Watt  laughed. 

"Because  thou  wert  an  honest  woman  and  not 
a  beauty,"  quoth  she. 

The  small  black  eyes  set  deep  in  Bush's  broad 
red  face  twinkled  somewhat  at  the  rough  jest,  but 
not  in  hearty  mirth.  She  rubbed  her  hand  across 
her  mouth  with  an  awkward  gesture. 

"  Ay,"  answered  she,  "  but  'twas  not  that  I 
meant.  I  thought  of  all  this  child  is  born  to — • 
love  and  wealth  and  learning — and  that  others 
are  born  to  naught  but  ill." 

"  Lawk !  let  us  not  even  speak  of  ill  on  such  a 
day,"  said  her  neighbour.  "  Look  at  the  sky's 
blueness  and  the  spring  bursting  forth  in  every 
branch  and  clod — and  the  very  skylarks  singing 
hard  as  if  for  joy." 

"  Ay,"  said  Joan  Bush,  "  and  look  up  village 
street  to  the  Plough  Horse,  and  see  thy  Gregory 
and  my  Will  and  their  mates  pouring  down  ale 


4          HIS   GRACE   OF  OSMONDE 

to  drink  a  health  to  it — and  to  her  Grace  and  to 
my  lord  Duke,  and  to  the  fine  Court  doctors,  and 
to  the  nurses,  and  to  the  Chaplain,  and  to  old 
Rowe  who  waits  about  to  be  ready  to  ring  a 
peal  on  the  church  bells.  They'll  find  toasts 
enough,  I  warrant." 

"  That  will  they,"  said  Dame  Watt,  but  she 
chuckled  good-naturedly,  as  if  she  held  no 
grudge  against  ale  drinking  for  this  one  day  at 
least. 

'Twas  true  the  men  found  toasts  enough  and 
were  willing  to  drink  them  as  they  would  have 
been  to  drink  even  such  as  were  less  popular. 
These,  in  sooth,  were  near  their  hearts ;  and  there 
was  reason  they  should  be,  no  nobleman  being 
more  just  and  kindly  to  his  tenants  than  his 
Grace  of  Osmonde,  and  no  lady  more  deservedly 
beloved  and  looked  up  to  with  admiring  awe 
than  his  young  Duchess,  now  being  tenderly 
watched  over  at  Camylott  Tower  by  one  of 
Queen  Catherine's  own  physicians  and  a  score 
of  assistants,  nurses,  and  underlings. 

Even  at  this  moment,  William  Bush  was  hold 
ing  forth  to  the  company  gathered  about  the 
door  of  the  Plough  Horse,  he  having  risen  from 
the  oaken  bench  at  its  threshold  to  have  his  pew 
ter  tankard  filled  again. 

"  'Tis  not  alone  Duke  he  will  be,"  quoth  he, 
"  but  with  titles  and  estates  enough  to  make  a 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE          5 

man  feel  like  King  Charles  himself.  Tis  thus  he 
will  be  writ  down  in  history,  as  his  Grace  his 
father  hath  been  before  him  :  Duke  of  Osmonde 
— Marquess  of  Roxholm — Earl  of  Osmonde — Earl 
of  Marlowell — Baron  Dorlocke  of  Paulyn,  and 
Baron  Mertoun  of  Charleroy." 

"Can  a  man  then  be  six  men  at  once?  "said 
Gregory  Watt. 

"Ay,  and  each  of  him  be  master  of  a  great 
house  and  rich  estate.  'Tis  so  with  this  one. 
'Tis  said  the  Court  itself  waits  to  hear  the  news." 

Stout  Tom  Comfort  broke  forth  into  a  laugh. 

"  'Tis  not  often  the  Court  waits,"  says  he,  "  to 
hear  news  so  honest.  At  Camylott  Tower  lies 
one  Duchess  whom  King  Charles  did  not  make, 
thank  God,  but  was  made  one  by  her  husband." 

Will  Bush  set  down  his  tankard  with  a  smack 
upon  the  table  before  the  sitting-bench. 

"  She  had  but  once  appeared  at  Whitehall  when 
his  Grace  met  her  and  fell  deep  in  love  that 
hour,"  he  said. 

"  Was't  not  rumoured,"  said  Tom  Comfort, 
somewhat  lowering  his  voice,  "  that  He  cast 
glances  her  way  as  he  casts  them  on  every  young 
beauty  brought  before  him,  and  that  his  Grace 
could  scarce  hold  his  tongue — King  or  no  King?" 

"  Ay,"  said  Will  Bush,  sharply, "  his  royal  glance 
fell  on  her,  and  he  made  a  jest  on  what  a  man's 
joy  would  be  whose  fortune  it  was  to  see  her  vio- 


6          HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

let  eyes  melt  in  love — and  his  Grace  went  to  her 
mother,  the  Lady  Elspeth,  and  besought  h'er  to 
let  him  proffer  his  vows  to  the  young  lady ;  and 
she  was  his  Duchess  in  ten  months'  time — and 
Madame  Carwell  had  come  from  France,  and  in 
a  year  was  made  Duchess  of  Portsmouth." 

"  Heard  you  not  that  she  too  —  some  three 
weeks  past — ?  "  quoth  Comfort,  who  was  as  fond 
of  gossip  as  an  old  woman. 

"Seventeen  days  gone,"  put  in  Bush;  "and 
'twas  dead,  by  Heaven's  mercy,  poor  brat.  They 
say  she  loses  her  looks,  and  that  his  Majesty  tires 
of  her,  and  looks  already  toward  other  quarters." 
And  so  they  sat  over  their  ale  and  gossiped,  they 
being  supplied  with  anecdote  by  his  Grace's  gen 
tleman's  gentleman,  who  was  fond  of  Court  life 
and  found  the  country  tiresome,  and  whose  habit 
it  was  to  spend  an  occasional  evening  at  the 
Plough  Horse  for  the  pleasure  of  having  even 
an  audience  of  yokels ;  liking  it  the  better  since, 
being  yokels,  they  would  listen  open-mouthed 
and  staring  by  the  hour  to  his  swagger  and  stories 
of  Whitehall  and  Hampton  Court,  and  the  many 
beauties  who  surrounded  the  sacred  person  of 
his  most  gracious  Majesty,  King  Charles  the  Sec 
ond.  Every  yokel  in  the  country  had  heard  ru 
mours  of  these  ladies,  but  Mr.  Mount  gave  those 
at  Camylott  village  details  which  were  often  true 
and  always  picturesque. 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE          7 

"  What  could  be  expected,"  he  would  say,  "  of 
a  man  who  had  lived  in  gay  exile  through  his  first 
years,  and  then  of  a  sudden  was  made  a  King,  and 
had  all  the  beauties  of  England  kneeling  before 
him — and  he  with  a  squat,  black,  long-toothed  Por- 
tugee  fastened  to  him  for  a  wife  ?  And  Mistress 
Barbara  Palmer  at  him  from  his  first  landing  on 
English  soil  to  be  restored  —  she  that  was  made 
my  Lady  Castlemaine." 

And  then  he  would  relate  stories  of  this  beau 
teous  fury,  and  her  tempestuous  quarrels  with  the 
King,  and  of  how  'twas  known  his  ease  and  pleas 
ure-loving  nature  stood  in  terror  of  her  violence 
and  gave  way  before  it  with  bribes  and  promises 
through  sheer  weariness. 

"  Tis  not  that  he  loves  her  best,"  said  Mr. 
Mount,  snuff-taking  in  graceful  Court  fashion, "  for 
he  hath  loved  a  dozen  since ;  but  she  is  a  shrew, 
and  can  rave  and  bluster  at  him  till  he  would 
hang  her  with  jewels,  and  give  her  his  crown  it 
self  to  quieten  her  furies.  'Tis  the  pretty  orange 
wench  and  actor  woman  Nell  Gwynne  who  will 
please  him  longest,  for  she  is  a  good-humoured 
baggage  and  witty,  and  gives  him  rest." 

'Twas  not  alone  Charles  who  was  pleased  with 
Nell  Gwynne.  All  England  liked  her,  and  the 
lower  orders  best  of  all,  because  she  was  merry 
and  kind  of  heart  and  her  jokes  and  open-handed- 
ness  pleased  them.  They  were  deep  in  the  midst 


8          HIS   GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

of  a  story  of  a  poor  gentleman  in  orders  whom  she 
had  rescued  from  the  debtors'  prison,  when  old 
Rowe,  who  had  been  watching  the  road  leading 
from  the  park  gates,  pricked  up  his  ears  and  left 
his  seat,  trembling  with  excitement. 

"  'Tis  a  horse  galloping,"  he  cried  ;  and  as  they 
all  turned  to  look  he  flung  his  cap  in  the  air.  "  'Tis 
the  messenger,"  he  burst  forth,  "and  he  waves 
his  hat  in  his  hand  as  if  he  had  gone  mad  with 
joy.  Off  go  I  to  the  church  tower  as  fast  as  legs 
will  carry  me." 

And  off  he  hobbled,  and  the  messenger  galloped 
onward,  flourishing  his  hat  as  he  rode,  and  giving 
it  no  rest  till  he  drew  rein  before  the  Plough 
Horse  door,  and  all  gathered  about  him  to  hear 
his  news. 

"  An  heir — an  heir ! "  he  cried.  "  'Tis  an  heir, 
and  as  lusty  as  a  young  lion.  Gerald  Walter 
John  Percy  Mertoun,  next  Duke  of  Osmonde ! 
Hurrah,  hurrah,  hurrah! 

And  at  the  words  all  the  men  shouted  and  flung 
up  their  hats,  the  landlord  with  his  wife  and  chil 
dren  ran  forth,  women  rushed  out  of  their  cot 
tages  and  cried  for  joy — and  the  bells  in  the  old 
church's  grey  tower  swung  and  rang  such  a  peal 
of  gladness  as  sounded  as  if  they  had  gone  wild 
in  their  ecstacy  of  welcome  to  the  new-born  thing. 

In  all  England  there  was  no  nobleman's  estate 
adorned  by  a  house  more  beautiful  than  was  the 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE  9 

Tower  of  Camylott.  Through  the  centuries  in 
which  it  had  stood  upon  the  fair  hill  which  was 
its  site,  there  had  passed  no  reign  in  which  a  king 
or  queen  had  not  been  guest  there,  and  no  pair 
of  royal  eyes  had  looked  from  its  window  quite 
without  envy,  upon  the  richly  timbered,  far 
reaching  park  and  the  broad  lovely  land  rolling 
away  to  the  sea.  There  was  no  palace  with  such 
lands  spread  before  it,  and  there  were  few  kings' 
houses  as  stately  and  beauteous  in  their  propor 
tions  as  was  this  one. 

The  fairest  room  in  the  fair  house  had  ever 
been  the  one  known  as  her  Grace's  White  Cham 
ber.  'Twas  a  spacious  room  with  white  panelled 
walls  and  large  mullioned  windows  looking  forth 
over  green  hill  and  vale  and  purple  woodland  and 
melting  into  the  blue  horizon.  The  ivy  grew  thick 
about  the  windows,  and  birds  nested  therein  and 
twittered  tenderly  in  their  little  homes.  The 
Duchess  greatly  loved  the  sound,  as  she  did 
the  fragrance  of  flowers  with  which  the  air  of 
the  White  Chamber  was  ever  sweet,  and  which 
was  wafted  up  to  it  by  each  wandering  breeze 
from  the  flower-beds  blooming  on  the  terrace 
below. 

In  this  room — as  the  bells  in  the  church  tower 
rang  their  joyous  peal — her  young  Grace  lay  in 
her  great  bed,  her  new-born  child  on  her  arm  and 
her  lord  seated  close  to  her  pillow,  holding  her 


10        HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

little  hand  to  his  lips,  his  lashes  somewhat  moist 
as  he  hung  over  his  treasures. 

"  You  scarce  can  believe  that  he  is  here,"  the 
Duchess  whispered  with  a  touching  softness.  "  In 
deed,  I  scarce  believe  it  myself.  'Twas  not  fair 
of  him  to  keep  us  waiting  five  years  when  we 
so  greatly  yearned  for  his  coming.  Perhaps  he 
waited,  knowing  that  we  expected  so  much  from 
him — such  beauty  and  such  wisdom  and  such 
strength.  Let  us  look  at  him  together,  love.  The 
physician  will  order  you  away  from  me  soon,  but 
let  us  see  first  how  handsome  he  is." 

She  thrust  the  covering  aside  and  the  two 
heads — one  golden  and  one  brown — pressed  closer 
together  that  they  might  the  better  behold  the 
infant  charms  which  were  such  joy  to  them. 

"  I  would  not  let  them  bind  his  little  limbs  and 
head  as  is  their  way,"  she  said.  "  From  the  first 
hour  I  spoke  with  his  chief  nurse,  I  gave  her  my 
command  that  he  should  be  left  free  to  grow 
and  to  kick  his  pretty  legs  as  soon  as  he  was 
strong  enough.  See,  John,  he  stirs  them  a  little 
now.  They  say  he  is  of  wondrous  size  and 
long  and  finely  made,  and  indeed  he  seems  so 
to  me— and  'tis  not  only  because  I  am  so  proud, 
is  it?" 

"  I  know  but  little  of  their  looks  when  they  are 
so  young,  sweet,"  her  lord  answered,  his  voice  and 
eyes  as  tender  as  her  own  ;  for  in  sooth  he  felt 


HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE         11 

himself  moved  as  he  had  been  at  no  other  hour  in 
his  life  before,  though  he  was  a  man  of  a  nature 
as  gentle  as  'twas  strong.  "  I  will  own  that  I  had 
ever  thought  of  them  as  strange,  unbeauteous 
red  things  a  man  almost  held  in  fear,  and  whose 
ugliness  a  woman  but  loved  because  she  was 
near  angel;  but  this  one—"  and  he  drew  nearer 
still  with  a  grave  countenance — "  surely  it  looks 
not  like  the  rest.  'Tis  not  so  red  and  crumple- 
visaged — its  tiny  face  hath  a  sort  of  comeliness. 
It  hath  a  broad  brow,  and  its  eyes  will  sure  be 
large  and  well  set." 

The  Duchess  slipped  her  fair  arm  about  his 
neck — he  was  so  near  to  her  'twas  easy  done — 
and  her  smile  trembled  into  sweet  tears  which 
were  half  laughter. 

"  Ah,  we  love  him  so,"  she  cried,  "  how  could 
we  think  him  like  any  other  ?  We  love  him  so 
and  are  so  happy  and  so  proud." 

And  for  a  moment  they  remained  silent,  their 
cheeks  pressed  together,  the  scent  of  the  spring 
flowers  wafting  up  to  them  from  the  terrace, 
the  church  bells  pealing  out  through  the  radiant 
air. 

"  He  was  born  of  love,"  his  mother  whispered 
at  last.  "  He  will  live  amid  love  and  see  only 
honour  and  nobleness." 

"  He  will  grow  to  be  a  noble  gentleman,"  said 
rny  lord  Duke.  "  And  some  day  he  will  love  a 


12        HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

noble  lady,  and  they  will  be  as  we  have  been — as 
we  have  been,  beloved." 

And  their  faces  turned  towards  each  other  as 
if  some  law  of  nature  drew  them,  and  their  lips 
met — and  their  child  stirred  softly  in  its  first 
sleep. 


CHAPTER  If 
"  He  is  the  King  " 

THE  bells  pealed  at  intervals  throughout  the 
day  in  at  least  five  villages  over  which  his  Grace 
of  Osmonde  was  lord — at  Roxholm  they  pealed, 
at  Marlowell  Dane,  at  Paulyn  Dorlocke,  at  Mer- 
tounhurst,  at  Camylott — and  in  each  place,  when 
night  fell,  bonfires  were  lighted  and  oxen  roasted 
whole,  while  there  were  dancing  and  fiddling  and 
drinking  of  ale  on  each  village  green. 

In  truth,  as  Dame  Watt  had  said,  he  had  begun 
well — Gerald  Walter  John  Percy  Mertoun,  Mar 
quess  of  Roxholm ;  and  well  it  seemed  he  would  go 
on.  He  throve  in  such  a  way  as  was  a  wonder  to 
his  physicians  and  nurses,  the  first  gentlemen  find 
ing  themselves  with  no  occasion  for  practising 
their  skill,  since  he  suffered  from  no  infant  ailments 
whatsoever,  but  fed  and  slept  and  grew  lustier  and 
fairer  every  hour.  He  grew  so  finely — perhaps 
because  his  young  mother  had  defied  ancient  cus 
tom  and  forbidden  his  limbs  and  body  to  be  bound 
— that  at  three  months  he  was  as  big  and  strong 
as  an  infant  of  half  a  year.  'Twas  plain  he  was 
built  for  a  tall  man  with  broad  shoulders  and  noble 
head.  But  a  few  months  had  passed  before  his 

13 


14        HIS   GRACE   OF  OSMONDE 

baby  features  modelled  themselves  into  promise  of 
marked  beauty,  and  his  brown  eyes  gazed  back  at 
human  beings,  not  with  infant  vagueness,  but  with 
a  look  which  had  in  it  somewhat  of  question  and 
reply.  His  retinue  of  serving-women  were  filled 
with  such  ardent  pride  in  him  that  his  chief  nurse 
had  much  to  do  to  keep  the  peace  among  them, 
each  wishing  to  be  first  with  him,  and  being  jeal 
ous  of  another  who  made  him  laugh  and  crow  and 
stretch  forth  his  arms  that  she  might  take  him. 
The  Commandress-in-Chief  of  the  nurses  was  no 
ordinary  female.  She  was  the  widow  of  a  poor 
chaplain — her  name  Mistress  Rebecca  Halsell— 
and  she  gratefully  rejoiced  to  have  had  the  hap 
piness  to  fall  into  a  place  of  such  honour  and  re 
sponsibility.  She  was  of  sober  age,  and  being 
motherly  as  well  as  discreet,  kept  such  faithful 
watch  over  him  as  few  children  begin  life  under. 
The  figure  of  this  good  woman  throughout  his 
childhood  stood  out  from  among  all  others  sur 
rounding  him,  with  singular  distinctness.  She 
seemed  not  like  a  servant,  nor  was  she  like  any 
other  in  the  household.  As  he  ripened  in  years, 
he  realised  that  in  his  earliest  memories  of  her 
there  was  a  recollection  of  a  certain  grave  respect 
she  had  seemed  to  pay  him,  and  he  saw  it  had  been 
not  mere  deference  but  respect,  as  though  he" had 
been  a  man  in  miniature,  and  one  to  whom,  de 
spite  his  tender  youth,  dignity  and  reason  should 


HIS  GRACE   OF   OSMONDE         15 

be  qualities  of  nature,  and  therefore  might  be  de 
manded  from  him  in  all  things.  As  early  as  thought 
began  to  form  itself  clearly  in  him,  he  singled 
out  Mistress  Halsell  as  a  person  to  reflect  upon. 
When  he  was  too  young  to  know  wherefore,  he 
comprehended  vaguely  that  she  was  of  a  wrorld 
to  which  the  rest  of  his  attendants  did  not  belong. 
'Twas  not  that  she  was  of  greatly  superior  educa 
tion  and  manners,  since  all  those  who  waited  upon 
him  had  been  carefully  chosen ;  'twas  that  she 
seemed  to  love  him  more  gravely  than  did  the 
others,  and  to  mean  a  deeper  thing  when  she 
called  him  "  my  lord  Marquess."  She  was  a  pock 
marked  woman  (she  having  taken  the  disease  from 
her  late  husband  the  Chaplain,  who  had  died  of 
that  scourge),  and  in  her  earliest  bloom  could  have 
been  but  plainly  favoured.  She  had  a  large-boned 
frame,  and  but  for  a  good  and  serious  carriage 
would  have  seemed  awkward.  She  had,  how 
ever,  the  good  fortune  to  be  the  possessor  of  a 
mellow  voice,  and  to  have  clear  grey  eyes,  set 
well  and  deep  in  her  head,  and  full  of  earnest 
meaning. 

"  Her  I  shall  always  remember,"  the  young 
Marquess  often  said  when  he  had  grown  to  be  a 
man  and  was  Duke,  and  had  wife  and  children  of 
his  own.  "  I  loved  to  sit  upon  her  knee,  and  lean 
against  her  breast,  and  gaze  up  into  her  eyes. 
'Twas  my  child-fancy  that  there  was  deep  within 


16         HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

them  something  like  a  star,  and  when  I  gazed  at 
it,  I  felt  a  kind  of  loving  awe  such  as  grew  within 
me  when  I  lay  and  looked  up  at  a  star  in  the  sky." 
His  mother's  eyes  were  of  so  dark  a  violet  that 
'twas  his  fancy  of  them  that  they  looked  like  the 
velvet  of  a  purple  pansy.  Her  complexion  was 
of  roses  and  lilies,  and  had  in  truth  by  nature  that 
sweet  bloom  which  Sir  Peter  Lely  was  kind 
enough  to  bestow  upon  every  beauty  of  King 
Charles's  court  his  brush  made  to  live  on  canvas. 
She  was  indeed  a  lovely  creature  and  a  happy  one, 
her  life  with  her  husband  and  child  so  contenting 
her  that,  young  though  she  was,  she  cared  as  little 
for  Court  life  as  my  lord  Duke,  who,  having  lived 
longer  in  its  midst  than  she,  had  no  taste  for  its 
intrigues  and  the  vices  which  so  flourished  in  its 
hot-bed.  Though  the  noblest  Duke  in  England, 
and  of  a  family  whose  whole  history  was  enriched 
with  services  to  the  royal  house,  his  habits  and 
likings  were  not  such  as  made  noblemen  favour 
ites  at  the  court  of  Charles  the  Second.  He  was 
not  given  to  loose  adventure,  and  had  not  won  the 
heart  of  my  Lady  Castlemaine,  since  he  had  made 
no  love  to  her,  which  was  not  a  thing  to  be  lightly 
forgiven  to  any  handsome  and  stalwart  gentleman. 
Besides  this,  he  had  been  so  moved  by  the  piteous 
case  of  the  poor  Queen,  during  her  one  hopeless 
battle  for  her  rights  when  this  termagant  beauty 
was  first  thrust  upon  her  as  lady  of  her  bedcham- 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE         17 

ber,  that  on  those  cruel  days  during  the  struggle 
when  the  poor  Catherine  had  found  herself  sitting 
alone,  deserted,  while  her  husband  and  her  court 
iers  gathered  in  laughing,  worshipping  groups 
about  her  triumphant  rival,  this  one  gentleman 
had  sought  by  his  courteous  respect  to  support 
her  in  her  humiliated  desolation,  though  the  King 
himself  had  first  looked  black  and  then  had  pri 
vately  mocked  at  him. 

"  He  hath  fallen  in  love  with  her,"  the  Castle- 
maine  had  said  afterwards  to  a  derisive  group ; 
"  he  hath  fallen  deep  in  love — with  her  long  teeth 
and  her  Portuguese  farthingale." 

"  She  needs  love,  poor  soul,  Heaven  knows," 
the  Duke  returned,  when  this  speech  was  repeated 
to  him.  "  A  poor  girl  taken  from  her  own  coun 
try,  married  to  a  King,  and  then  insulted  by  his 
Court  and  his  mistresses !  Some  man  should  re 
member  her  youth  and  desolateness,  and  not  for 
get  that  another  man  has  broke  her  heart  and  lets 
his  women  laugh  at  her  misfortunes." 

'Twould  have  been  a  dangerous  speech  perhaps 
had  a  man  of  the  Court  of  Henry  the  Eighth  made 
it,  even  to  a  friend,  but  Charles  was  too  lightly 
vicious  and  too  fond  of  gay  scenes  to  be  savage. 
His  brutality  was  such  as  was  carelessly  wreaked 
on  hearts  instead  of  heads — hearts  he  polluted, 
made  toys  of,  flung  in  the  mire  or  broke  ;  heads 
he  left  on  the  shoulders  they  belonged  to.  But  he 


1 8        HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

did  not  love  his  Grace  of  Osmonde,  and  though 
his  rank  and  character  were  such  that  he  could 
not  well  treat  him  with  indignity,  he  did  not  re 
gret  that  after  his  Grace's  marriage  with  the 
Lady  Rosalys  Delile  he  appeared  but  seldom  at 
Court. 

"  He  is  a  tiresome  fellow,  for  one  can  find  no 
fault  with  him,"  his  Majesty  said,  fretfully.  "  Odd's 
fish !  fortune  is  on  his  side  where  my  house  is  con 
cerned.  His  father  fought  at  Edgehill  and  Mar- 
ston  Moor,  and  they  tell  me  died  but  two  years 
after  Naseby  of  a  wound  he  had  there.  Let  him 
go  and  bury  himself  on  his  great  estates,  play  the 
benefactor  to  his  tenantry,  listen  to  his  Chaplain's 
homilies,  and  pay  stately  visits  to  the  manors  of 
his  neighbours." 

His  Grace  lived  much  in  the  country,  not  being 
fond  of  town,  but  he  did  not  bury  himself  and  his 
fair  spouse.  Few  men  lived  more  active  lives  and 
found  such  joy  in  existence.  He  entertained  at 
his  country  seats  most  brilliantly,  since,  though 
he  went  but  seldom  to  London,  he  was  able  to 
offer  London  such  pleasures  and  allurements  that 
it  was  glad  to  come  to  him.  There  were  those 
who  were  delighted  to  leave  the  Court  itself  to 
visit  Roxholm  or  Camylott  or  some  other  of  his 
domains.  Men  who  loved  hunting  and  out-of- 
door  life  found  entertainment  on  the  estates  of  a 
man  who  was  the  most  splendid  sportsman  of  his 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE         19 

day,  whose  moors  and  forests  provided  the  finest 
game  and  his  stables  the  finest  horses  in  Eng 
land.  Women  who  were  beauties  found  that  in 
his  stately  rooms  they  might  gather  courts  about 
them.  Men  of  letters  knew  that  in  his  libraries 
they  might  delve  deep  into  the  richest  mines. 
Those  who  loved  art  found  treasures  in  his  gal 
leries,  and  wide  comprehension  and  finished  tastes 
in  their  master. 

And  over  the  assemblies,  banquets,  and  brilliant 
hunt  balls  there  presided  the  woman  with  the 
loveliest  eyes,  'twas  said,  in  England,  Scotland, 
Ireland,  or  Wales — the  violet  eyes  King  Charles 
had  been  stirred  by  and  which  had  caused  him 
a  bitter  scene  with  my  Lady  Castlemaine,  whose 
eyes  were  neither  violet  nor  depths  of  tender  pu 
rity.  The  sweetest  eyes  in  the  world,  all  vowed 
them  to  be  ;  and  there  was  no  man  or  woman, 
gentle  or  simple,  who  was  not  rejoiced  by  their 
smiling. 

"In  my  book  of  pictures,"  said  the  little  Mar 
quess  to  his  mother  once,  "  there  is  an  angel.  She 
looks  as  you  do  when  you  come  in  your  white 
robe  to  kiss  me  before  you  go  down  to  dine  with 
the  ladies  and  gentlemen  who  are  our  guests. 
Your  little  shining  crown  is  made  of  glittering 
stones,  and  hers  is  only  gold.  Angels  wear  only 
golden  crowns — but  you  are  like  her,  mother, 
only  more  beautiful." 


20        HIS   GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

The  child  from  his  first  years  was  used  to  the 
passing  and  repassing  across  his  horizon  of  brill 
iant  figures  and  interesting  ones.  From  the  big 
mullioned  window  of  his  nursery  he  could  see  the 
visitors  come  and  go,  he  watched  the  beaux  and 
beauties  saunter  in  the  park  and  pleasaunce  in 
their  brocades,  laces,  and  plumed  hats,  he  saw  the 
scarlet  coats  ride  forth  to  hunt,  and  at  times  fine 
chariots  roll  up  the  avenue  with  great  people  in 
them  come  to  make  visits  of  state.  His  little  life 
was  full  of  fair  pictures  and  fair  stories  of  them. 
When  the  house  was  filled  with  brilliant  company 
he  liked  nothing  so  much  as  to  sit  on  Mistress 
Halsell's  knee  or  in  his  chair  by  her  side  and 
ask  her  questions  about  the  guests  he  caught 
glimpses  of  as  they  passed  to  and  fro.  He  was  a 
child  of  strong  imagination  and  with  a  great  lik 
ing  for  the  romantic  and  poetic.  He  would  have 
told  to  him  again  and  again  any  rumour  of  advent 
ure  connected  with  those  he  had  beheld.  He  was 
greatly  pleased  by  the  foreign  ladies  and  gentle 
men  who  were  among  the  guests — he  liked  to  hear 
of  the  Court  of  King  Louis  the  Fourteenth,  and  to 
have  pointed  out  to  him  those  visitors  who  were 
personages  connected  with  it.  He  was  attracted 
by  the  sound  of  foreign  tongues,  and  would  inquire 
to  which  country  a  gentleman  or  lady  belonged, 
and  would  thrust  his  head  out  of  the  window 
when  they  sauntered  on  the  terraces  below  that 


HIS   GRACE   OF  OSMONDE        21 

he  might  hear  them  speak  their  language.  As 
was  natural,  he  heard  much  interesting  gossip 
from  his  attendants  when  they  were  not  aware 
that  he  was  observing,  they  feeling  secure  in  his 
extreme  youth.  He  could  not  himself  exactly 
have  explained  how  his  conception  of  the  dif 
ference  between  the  French  and  English  Courts 
arose,  but  at  seven  years  old,  he  in  some  way  knew 
that  King  Louis  was  a  finer  gentleman  than  King 
Charles,  that  his  Court  was  more  elegant,  and 
that  the  beauties  who  ruled  it  were  not  merry 
orange  wenches,  or  romping  card  house-building 
maids  of  honour,  or  splendid  viragoes  who  raved 
and  stamped  and  poured  forth  oaths  as  fishwives 
do.  How  did  he  know  it — and  many  other  things 
also?  He  knew  it  as  children  always  know  things 
their  elders  do  not  suspect  them  of  remarking, 
but  which,  falling  upon  their  little  ears  sink  deep 
into  their  tiny  minds,  and  lying  there  like  seeds  in 
rich  earth,  put  forth  shoots  and  press  upwards  un 
til  they  pierce  through  the  darkness  and  flower 
and  bear  fruit  in  the  light  of  day.  He  knew  that 
a  certain  great  Duchess  of  Portsmouth  had  been 
sent  over  from  France  by  King  Louis  to  gain 
something  from  King  Charles,  who  had  fallen  in 
love  with  her.  The  meaning  of  "falling  in  love" 
he  was  yet  vague  in  his  understanding  of,  but  he 
knew  that  the  people  hated  her  because  they 
thought  she  played  tricks  and  would  make  trouble 


22         HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

for  England  if  she  led  the  King-  as^  she  tried  to 
do.  The  common  people  called  her  "  Madame 
Carwell,"  that  being  their  pronunciation  of  the 
French  name  she  had  borne  before  she  had  been 
made  a  Duchess.  He  had  once  heard  his  nurses 
Alison  and  Grace  gossiping  together  of  a  great 
service  of  gold  the  King  had  given  her,  and  which, 
when  it  had  been  on  exhibition,  had  made  the 
people  so  angry  that  they  had  said  they  would 
like  to  see  it  melted  and  poured  down  her  throat. 
"  If  he  must  give  it,"  they  had  grumbled,  "he  had 
better  have  bestowed  it  upon  Madame  Ellen." 

Hearing  this,  my  lord  Marquess  had  left  his 
playing  and  gone  to  the  women,  where  they  stood 
enjoying  their  gossip  and  not  thinking  of  him. 
He  stood  and  looked  up  at  Alison  in  his  grave 
little  way. 

"  Who  is  Madame  Ellen,  Alison?"  he  inquired. 

"  Good  Lord ! "  the  woman  exclaimed,  aside  to 
her  companion. 

"  Why  do  the  people  like  her  better  than  the 
other  ?  "  he  persisted. 

At  this  moment  Mistress  Halsell  entered  the 
nursery,  and  her  keen  eye  saw  at  once  that  his 
young  Lordship  had  put  some  question  to  his  at 
tendants  which  they  scarce  knew  how  to  answer. 

"  What  does  my  lord  Marquess  ask,  Grace  ?  " 
she  said;  and  my  lord  Marquess  turned  and 
looked  at  herself. 


HIS   GRACE   OF  OSMONDE        23 

"  I  heard  them  speak  of  Madame  Ellen,"  he  an 
swered.  "  They  said  something  about  some  pretty 
things  made  of  gold  and  that  the  people  were  an 
gry  that  they  were  for  her  Grace  of  Portsmouth 
instead  of  Madame  Ellen.  Why  do  they  like  her 
better?" 

Mistress  Halsell  took  his  hand  and  walked 
with  him  to  their  favourite  seat  in  the  big  window. 

"  It  is  because  she  is  the  better  woman  of  the 
two,  my  lord,"  she  said. 

"  Is  the  other  one  bad,  then  ? "  he  inquired. 
"  And  why  does  his  Majesty  give  her  things  made 
of  gold?" 

"To  pay  her,"  answered  Mistress  Rebecca, 
looking  thoughtfully  out  of  the  window. 

"  For  what?"  the  young  Marquess  asked. 

"  For — for  that  an  honest  woman  should  not 
take  pay  for." 

"Then  why  does  he  love  her?  Is  he  a  bad 
King?"  his  voice  lowering  as  he  said  it  and  his 
brown-eyed,  ruddy  little  face  grown  solemn. 

"A  quiet  woman  in  a  place  like  mine  cannot 
judge  of  Kings,"  she  answered  ;  "  but  to  be  King 
is  a  grave  thing." 

"  Grave ! "  cried  he  ;  "I  thought  it  was  very 
splendid.  All  England  belongs  to  him  ;  he  wears 
a  gold  crown  and  people  kneel  to  kiss  his  hand. 
My  father  and  mother  kneel  to  him  when  they  go 
to  the  Court." 


24        HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

"  That  is  why  it  is  grave,"  said.  Mistress  Re 
becca.  "All  the  people  look  to  him  for  their  ex 
ample.  Because  he  is  their  head  they  follow  him. 
He  can  lead  them  to  good  or  evil.  He  can  help 
England  to  be  honest  or  base.  He  is  the  KING." 

The  little  fellow  looked  out  upon  the  fair  scene 
spread  before  him.  Many  thoughts  he  could  not 
yet  have  found  words  for  welled  up  within  him 
and  moved  him  vaguely. 

"  He  is  the  King,"  he  repeated,  softly  ;  "  he  is 
the  King!  " 

Mistress  Rebecca  looked  at  him  with  tender, 
searching  eyes.  She  had,  through  her  own 
thoughts,  learned  how  much  these  small  creatures 
— sometimes  dealt  with  so  carelessly — felt  when 
they  were  too  young  for  phrases,  and  how  much, 
also,  they  remembered  their  whole  lives  through. 

"  He  is  the  King,"  she  said,  "  and  a  King  must 
think  of  his  people.  A  Duke,  too,  must  think  of 
his — as  his  Grace,  your  father,  thinks,  never  deal 
ing  lightly  with  his  great  name  or  his  great  house, 
or  those  of  whom  he  is  governor." 

The  boy  climbed  upon  her  knee  and  sat  there, 
leaning  against  her  as  he  loved  to  do.  His  eyes 
rested  on  the  far  edge  of  the  farthest  purple  moor, 
behind  which  the  sun  seemed  to  be  slipping  away 
into  some  other  world  he  knew  not  of.  The 
little  clouds  floating  in  the  high  blue  sky  were 
rosy  where  they  were  not  golden ;  a  flock  of 


HIS  GRACE  OF   OSMONDE        25 

rooks  was  flying  slowly  homeward  over  the  tree- 
tops,  cawing  lazily  as  they  came.  A  great  and 
beautiful  stillness  seemed  to  rest  on  all  the  earth, 
and  his  little  mind  was  full  of  strange  ponder, 
ings,  leading  him  through  labyrinths  of  dreams 
he  would  remember  and  comprehend  the  deep 
meaning  of  only  when  he  was  a  man.  Somehow 
all  his  thoughts  were  trooping  round  about  a 
rich  and  brilliant  figure  which  was  a  sort  of  im 
age  standing  to  him  for  the  personality  of  his 
Most  Sacred  Majesty  King  Charles  the  Second 
— the  King  who  was  not  quite  a  King,  though  all 
England  looked  to  him,  and  he  could  lead  it  to 
good  or  evil. 


CHAPTER  I!/ 
Sir  Jeoffry  Wildairs 

IT  was  not  common  in  those  days  for  young 
gentlemen  of  quality  to  love  their  books  too 
dearly  ;  in  truth,  men  of  all  ranks  and  ages  were 
given  rather  to  leaving  learning  and  the  effort 
to  acquire  it  to  those  who  depended  upon  profes 
sions  to  gain  their  bread  for  them.  Men  of  rank 
and  fortune  had  too  many  amusements  which 
required  no  aid  from  books,  which,  indeed,  were 
not  greatly  the  fashion.  For  country  gentlemen 
there  was  hunting,  coursing,  cock-fights,  the  ex 
hilarating  watching  of  cudgelling  bouts  between 
yokels,  besides  visiting,  and  much  eating  and 
drinking  and  smoking  of  tobacco  while  jovial,  and 
sometimes  not  too  fastidious  stories  were  told. 
When  a  man  went  up  to  town  he  had  other  pleas 
ures  to  fill  his  time,  and  whether  he  was  a 
country  gentleman  making  his  yearly  visit  or 
a  fashionable  rake  and  beau,  his  entertainment 
was  not  usually  derived  from  books,  a  man  who 
spent  much  time  with  them  being  indeed  gener 
ally  regarded  as  a  milksop.  But  from  the  time 
when  he  lay  stretched  upon  his  nursery  floor  and 
gazed  at  pictures  and  lettering  he  had  not 

26 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE         27 

learned  to  read,  the  little  Marquess  had  a  fondness 
for  books.  He  learned  to  read  early,  arid  once 
having  learned,  was  never  so  full  of  pleasure  as 
when  he  had  a  volume  to  pore  over.  At  first  he 
revelled  in  stories  of  magicians,  giants,  afrits,  and 
gnomes,  but  as  soon  as  his  tutors  took  him  in 
hand  he  wakened  every  day  to  some  new  interest. 
Languages  ancient  and  modern  he  learned  with 
great  rapidity,  having  a  special  fondness  for  them, 
and  at  thirteen  could  speak  French,  high  Dutch, 
and  Italian  excellently  well  for  his  years,  besides 
having  a  scholarly  knowledge  of  Latin  and  Greek. 
His  tutor,  Mr.  Fox,  an  elderly  scholar  of  honour 
able  birth  and  many  attainments,  was  as  proud  of 
his  talents  and  advancement  as  his  female  attend 
ants  had  been  of  his  strength  and  beauty  in  his 
infancy.  This  gentleman,  whose  income  had  been 
reduced  by  misfortune,  who  had  lost  his  wife  and 
children  tragically  by  one  illness,  and  who  had 
come  to  undertake  his  pupil  an  almost  broken 
hearted  man,  found  in  the  promise  of  this  young 
mind  a  solace  he  had  never  hoped  to  know  again. 
"  I  have  taught  young  gentlemen  before,"  he 
remarked  privately  to  Mistress  Halsell — "  one  at 
least  with  royal  blood  in  his  veins,  though  he 
was  not  called  prince — but  my  lord  Marquess 
has  a  fire  I  have  seen  in  no  other.  To  set  him  to 
work  upon  a  new  branch  of  study  is  like  setting  a 
flame  to  brushwood.  'Tis  as  though  he  burned 


28        HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

his  way  to  that  he  would  reach."  f  he  same  fire 
expressed  itself  in  all  he  did.  He  was  passionately 
fond  of  all  boyish  sports,  and  there  was  no  bodily 
feat  he  undertook  which  he  did  not  finally  per 
form  better  than  others  of  his  age  performed  it. 
He  could  leap,  run,  fence,  shoot  at  a  mark;  there 
was  no  horse  he  could  not  ride,  and  at  ten  he 
stood  as  tall  as  a  boy  of  fourteen,  and  was  stal 
wart  and  graceful  into  the  bargain.  Of  his  beauty 
there  could  be  no  question,  it  being  of  an  order 
which  marked  him  in  any  assembly.  'Twas  not 
only  that  his  features  were  of  so  fine  a  moulding, 
that  his  thick  hair  curled  about  his  brow  in  splen 
did  rings,  and  that  he  had  a  large  deep  eye, 
tawny  brown  and  fearless  as  a  young  lion's,  but 
there  \vas  in  the  carriage  of  his  head,  the  bearing 
of  his  body,  the  very  movement  of  his  limbs  a 
thing  which  stamped  him.  In  truth,  it  was  as  if 
nature,  in  a  lavish  mood  and  having  leisure,  had 
built  a  human  creature  of  her  best  and  launched 
him  furnished  forth  with  her  fairest  fortunes,  that 
she  might  behold  what  he  would  do.  The  first 
time  he  was  taken  by  his  parents  to  London, 
there  was  a  day  upon  which,  while  walking  in  the 
garden  of  Hampton  Court,  accompanied  by  his 
governor,  he  found  himself  stopped  by  a  splendid 
haughty  lady,  whom  Mr.  Fox  saluted  with  some 
fearfulness  when  she  addressed  him.  She  asked 
the  boy's  name,  and,  putting  her  hand  on  his 


HIS   GRACE   OF  OSMONDE        29 

shoulder,  so  held  him  that  she  might  look  at  him 
well. 

"The  little  Roxholm,"  she  said.  "Yes,  his 
mother  was  the  beauty  who — 

'Twas  as  if  she  checked  her  speech.  She  made 
a  quick,  imperious  movement  with  her  head,  and 
added :  "  He  is  all  rumour  said  of  him  ; "  and  she 
turned  away  with  such  abruptness  that  the  child 
asked  himself  how  he  had  vexed  her,  and  won 
dered  also  at  her  manners,  he  being  used  only  to 
grace  and  courtesy. 

They  were  near  the  end  of  the  terrace  which 
looked  upon  the  River  Thames,  and  she  went  with 
her  companion  and  leaned  upon  the  stone  balus 
trades,  looking  out  upon  the  water  with  fierce 
eyes.  "  The  woman  who  could  give  him  a  son 
like  that,"  she  said,  "  could  hold  him  against  all 
others,  and  demand  what  she  chose.  Squat  Cath 
erine  herself  could  do  it." 

Little  Roxholm  heard  her. 

"  She  is  a  very  handsome  lady,"  he  said,  inno 
cently,  "though  she  has  a  strange  way.  Is  she 
of  the  Court,  and  do  you  know  her  name  ?  " 

"  'Tis  her  Grace  the  Duchess  of  Cleveland," 
answered  Mr.  Fox,  gravely,  as  they  walked  away. 

He  was  seven  years  old  at  this  time,  and  'twas 
during  this  visit  to  town  that  he  heard  a  conver 
sation  which  made  a  great  impression  upon  him, 
opening  up  as  it  did  new  vistas  of  childish  think- 


30        HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

ing.  Having  known  but  one  phase  of  existence, 
he  was  not  aware  that  he  had  lived  the  life  of  a 
young  prince  in  a  fairy  tale,  and  that  there  were 
other  children  whose  surroundings  were  as 
gloomy  as  his  were  fair  and  bright. 

He  was  one  day  comfortably  ensconced  in  the 
deep  embrasure  of  a  window,  a  book  upon  his 
knee,  when  Mistress  Halsell  and  one  of  the 
upper  servants  came  into  the  room  upon  which 
his  study  opened,  and  presently  his  ear  was  at 
tracted  by  a  thing  they  were  speaking  of  with 
some  feeling. 

"  As  sweetly  pretty  a  young  lady  as  ever  one 
beheld,"  he  heard.  "  Never  saw  I  a  fairer  skin  or 
eyes  more  hyacinth-blue — and  her  hair  trailing  to 
the  ground  like  a  mantle,  and  as  soft  and  fine  as 
silk." 

'Twas  this  which  made  him  stop  in  his  reading. 
The  description  seeming  so  like  that  of  a  beauty 
in  a  story  of  chivalry  in  which  knights  fought  for 
such  loveliness. 

"  And  now,"  the  voice  went  on,  "  after  but  a 
few  years  of  marriage  all  her  beauty  lost  so  that 
none  would  know  her!  Four  poor,  weak  girl  in 
fants  she  hath  given  birth  to,  and  her  husband, 
Sir  Jeoffry,  in  a  fury  at  the  coming  of  each,  rag 
ing  that  it  is  not  an  heir.  Before  the  first  came 
he  had  begun  to  slight  her,  and  when  'twas  born 
a  girl  he  well-nigh  broke  her  heart.  He  is  a 


HIS  GRACE   OF  OSMONDE        31 

great,  bold,  handsome  man,  and  she,  poor  little 
lady,  hopeless  in  her  worship  of  him.  And  the 
next  year  there  was  another  girl,  and  each  year 
since — and  Sir  Jeoffry  spends  his  time  in  riot  and 
drinking  and  ill-living — and  she  fades  away  in  her 
wing  of  the  house,  scarce  ever  seen." 

"  Poor,  uncared-for  thing,  'twould  be  happier 
if  God  took  her,  and  her  children,  too,"  said  Mis 
tress  Halsell. 

"  Three  have  been  taken,"  replied  her  compan 
ion,  in  a  low  voice.  "  Neither  she  nor  they  have 
strength.  And  ah  !  to  see  her  in  these  days — 
her  pretty  face  grown  thin  and  haggard,  the  blue 
of  her  eyes  drenched  out  with  weeping.  'Tis  told 
he  once  said  to  her,  '  When  a  woman  grows  thin 
and  yellow,  her  husband  will  go  in  search  of 
better  looks,  and  none  has  right  to  blame  him.' 
'Twas  on  a  day  when  she  had  dressed  herself 
in  her  best  to  please  him,  but  a  few  weeks  after 
her  third  infant  came  into  the  world.  And  so 
weak  was  she,  poor  lady,  and  so  hurt  in  spirit, 
that  she  gave  a  little  sob  and  swooned." 

The  young  Marquess  read  his  book  no  more. 
He  drew  down  his  handsome  childish  brow  and 
stared  straight  before  him  through  the  window. 
He  was  a  boy  with  a  fiery  spirit,  despite  his  gen 
eral  amiability  of  demeanour,  and,  had  he  lived 
among  tormentors  and  tyrants  and  been  ill-treat 
ed,  would  have  had  an  ungovernable  temper. 


32        HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

The  thing  he  had  heard  filled  him  with  a  kind  of 
rage  against  this  big  handsome  man  who  treated 
his  lady  cruelly  and  hated  her  infants.  'Twas 
all  brutal  and  wicked  and  unfair,  as  if  one  should 
heartlessly  beat  a  little  dog  that  loved  one.  The 
picture  brought  before  him  was  hideous  and 
made  him  grow  hot.  His  spirit  had  never  been 
tamed,  he  had  the  blood  of  fighting  men  in  his 
veins,  and  he  had  read  innumerable  stories  of 
chivalry.  He  wished  he  were  big  enough  then 
to  go  forth  in  search  of  such  men  as  this  Sir  Jeof- 
fry,  and  strike  them  to  the  earth  with  his  sword. 

On  such  evenings  as  their  Graces  did  not  en 
tertain,  he  was  taken  by  his  governour  to  spend 
an  hour  with  his  father  and  mother  in  the  with- 
drawing-room,  where  they  sat,  and  on  this  even 
ing,  when  he  went  to  them,  each  of  them  ob 
served  that  he  spoke  less  than  usual  and  seemed 
in  a  new  mood.  He  had  always  been  filled  with 
a  passionate  adoration  of  his  mother,  and  was 
much  given  to  following  her  with  his  eyes ;  but 
this  night  his  gaze  was  fixed  upon  her  in  such 
earnest  scrutiny  that  at  last  her  Grace  asked 
him  laughingly  what  he  saw  in  her  looks  more 
than  ordinary.  He  had  kept  very  close  to  her, 
and  had  held  her  hand,  and  kissed  it  more  than 
once  since  he  had  been  in  the  room.  He  lifted  it 
to  his  lips  again  now,  and  pressed  an  impassioned 
kiss  upon  its  fairness. 


HIS   GRACE   OF  OSMONDE        33 

"  You  were  never  treated  cruelly,"  he  said. 
"  No  one  would  ever  dare  to  speak  so  to  you  that 
you  would  sob  and  swoon.  If  any  dared !  "  and 
his  little  hand  involuntarily  went  to  his  side  with 
a  fierce  childish  gesture  which  made  my  lord 
Duke  laugh  delightedly. 

"  'Tis  in  his  blood  to  draw/''  he  said.  "  Bravo  ! 
Roxholm  ;  bravo !  " 

His  mother  looked  at  his  beautiful  little  face 
and,  seeing  a  thing  in  his  eyes  which  women 
who  are  mothers  detect  in  the  eyes  of  their  off 
spring  when  others  observe  little,  put  a  hand  on 
each  of  his  shoulders  and  went  upon  one  knee  so 
that  she  could  be  on  a  level  with  his  face  and  see 
deeper. 

"  What,"  she  said,  with  a  tender  comprehend 
ing  warmth,  "you  have  been  hearing  of  some 
poor  lady  who  is  hardly  treated,  and  you  cannot 
endure  to  think  of  it,  because  you  are  a  man  even 
though  you  are  but  seven  years  old  ;  "  and  she 
bent  forward  and  kissed  him  with  a  lovely  pas 
sion  and  her  violet  eyes  bedewed.  "  Yes,  love," 
she  said,  "you  are  a  Man.  All  Osmondes  are 
when  they  are  born,  I  think.  Indeed,  John"  — 
with  the  sweetest  laughing  look  at  her  lord,  who 
stood  worshipping  her  from  his  place  at  the  op 
posite  side  of  the  hearth — "  I  am  sure  that  when 
you  were  seven  years  old,  if  you  had  had  a  lit 
tle  sword,  you  would  have  drawn  it  to  defend  a 
3 


34        HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

woman  against  a  giant,  though  he*  had  been  big 
enough  to  have  eaten  you  at  one  mouthful — and 
Gerald  is  like  you,"  proudly.  "  Gerald  is  a  Man, 
too." 

"  Tis  not  fair,"  cried  little  Roxholm,  passion- 
ately,  "  'tis  not  fair  that  a  big  gentleman  should 
be  so  harsh  to  a  poor  lady  who  loves  him,  that  he 
should  make  her  cry  till  the  blue  goes  from  her 
eyes  and  she  is  beautiful  no  longer,  and  that  he 
should  hate  her  infants  because  they  are  not 
boys.  And  when  she  tried  to  please  him  he 
made  her  sob  and  swoon  away.  He  should  be 
killed  for  it— he  should  be  killed." 

His  father  and  mother  glanced  at  each  other. 
"  Surely,"  her  Grace  said,  "  he  must  have  heard 
of  the  wicked  Gloucestershire  baronet  my  Lord 
Dunstanwolde  told  us  stories  of — Sir  Jeoffry." 

"  Ay,  his  name  was  Sir  Jeoffry,"  cried  Rox 
holm,  eagerly.  "  Sir  Jeoffry  it  was  they  said." 

"  Yes,"  said  my  lord  Duke,  "  Sir  Jeoffry  Wild- 
airs,  and  a  rank,  heartless  brute  he  is  to  be  the 
father  of  helpless  girl  children." 


CHAPTER  IY 
"God  Have  Mercy  on  its  Evil  Fortunes" 

IN  the  constantly  changing  panorama  which 
passes  before  the  mind  of  a  child,  it  is  certain  no 
picture  dawns  and  fades  without  leaving  some 
trace  behind.  The  exact  images  may  not  be  re 
corded,  but  the  effect  produced  by  their  passing 
will  remain  and  become  part  of  the  palimpsest  of 
life  and  character.  The  panorama  which  passed 
before  the  mental  vision  of  the  boy  Marquess 
during  the  years  of  his  early  youth  was  not  only 
brilliant  but  full  of  great  changes,  being  indeed 
such  a  panorama  as  could  not  fail  to  produce 
strong  and  formative  impressions  upon  a  grow- 
ing  mind.  The  doings  of  Charles  Stuart's  disso 
lute  and  brilliant  Court  he  began  life  hearing  sto 
ries  of ;  before  he  had  reached  ten  years  of  age, 
King  Charles  had  died  and  James  the  Second  was 
ruler  of  England  ;  in  three  years  more  his  Maj 
esty  had  been  deserted  by  all  and  had  fled  to  the 
protection  of  Louis  of  France,  leaving  his  crown 
behind  him  to  be  offered  to  and  accepted  by 
William  of  Orange  and  Mary,  his  well-beloved 
wife;  but  four  years  later  Queen  Mary  had  died 
of  small-pox  and  left  her  husband  overwhelmed 

35 


36        HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

with  grief,  crying  that  he  had  been  the  happiest 
of  men  and  was  now  the  most  miserable.  Kings 
are  not  made  and  deposed,  crowned  and  buried 
and  mourned,  without  pomps,  ceremonials,  and 
the  occurring  of  events  which  must  move  even 
the  common  mind  to  observation  and  reflection. 
This  young  mind  was  of  no  common  mould,  it 
having  come  into  the  world  active  and  by  nature 
ready  to  receive  impressions,  and  from  its  earli 
est  consciousness  had  been  watched  and  cultured 
in  such  manner  as  must  have  enriched  even  the 
poorest  understanding.  As  children  of  ordinary 
rank  are  familiar  with  games,  and  hear  of  simple 
every-day  events  that  happen  to  their  neighbours, 
this  heir  to  a  dukedom  was  familiar  with  the 
game  of  Courts  and  rulers  and  heard  daily  discus 
sion  of  Kings  and  great  statesmen — of  their  rights 
and  wrongs,  their  triumphs  and  failures.  The 
changing  events  made  such  discussion  inevitable, 
and  the  boy,  being  through  their  wise  affection 
treated  almost  as  the  companion  of  his  parents, 
heard  much  important  conversation  which  filled 
him  with  deep  interest  and  led  him  into  grave 
thinking  which  greatly  developed  his  powers  of 
mind.  Among  the  many  memories  which  re 
mained  with  him  throughout  his  life,  and  which 
in  his  later  years  he  realised,  had  left  a  singularly 
definite  image  upon  his  mind,  was  this  small  inci 
dent  of  his  first  hearing  of  the  Gloucestershire 


HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE        37 

baronet  whose  lady  had  wept  the  blue  from  her 
eyes  in  her  wretchedness  under  his  brutal  neglect 
and  cruelty.  The  impression  doubtless  owed 
much  of  its  vividness  to  the  fact  that  'twas  made 
so  early  as  to  be  the  first  realising  of  the  exist 
ence  of  a  world  where  misery  dwelt  as  a  common 
thing,  where  men  were  coarse  and  cruel,  where 
women  were  tyrannised  over  and  treated  rough 
ly,  and  where  children  were  unloved  and  neg 
lected.  Into  this  world  he  had  previously  ob 
tained  no  glimpse  ;  but,  once  having  realised  its 
existence,  he  could  not  easily  forget  it.  Often  as 
time  passed  he  found  himself  haunted  by  thoughts 
of  the  poor  injured  lady  and  her  children,  and 
being  a  creature  of  strong  imagination,  there 
would  rise  before  him  mental  pictures  of  what  a 
household  might  be  whose  master  was  a  coarse 
rioter  before  whom  his  wife  and  children  cow 
ered  in  fear. 

So  it  happened  in  his  conversing  with  Mistress 
Halsell  he  broached  the  subject  of  the  Glouces 
tershire  baronet,  and  the  good  woman,  seeing  that 
his  speech  did  not  arise  from  idle  curiosity,  told 
him  what  she  knew  of  this  most  unhappy  family. 

Twas  an  old  family  and  a  good  one  in  the  mat 
ter  of  lineage,  but  through  the  debaucheries  of  the 
last  baronets  its  estates  had  become  impoverished 
and  its  reputation  of  an  ill  savour.  It  had  ever 
been  known  as  a  family  noted  for  the  great  phys- 


38        HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

ical  strength  and  beauty  of  its  men  and  women. 
For  centuries  the  men  of  the  house  of  Wildairs 
had  been  the  biggest  and  the  handsomest  in 
England.  They  had  massive  frames,  black  eyes, 
thick  hair  and  beards,  and  feared  neither  man  nor 
devil,  but  openly  defied  both.  They  were  men 
who  lived  wildly,  ate  and  drank  hugely,  pursued 
women,  were  great  at  all  deeds  of  prowess,  and 
bursting  with  rough  health  and  lawless  high  spir 
its.  Twas  a  saying  of  their  house  that  "  a  Wildairs 
who  could  not  kill  an  ox  with  a  blow  and  eat  half 
of  him  when  he  was  roasted,  was  a  poor  wight 
indeed."  The  present  baronet,  Sir  Jeoffry,  was  of 
somewhat  worse  reputation  than  any  Sir  Jeoffry 
before  him.  He  lived  a  wild  life  in  the  country, 
rarely  going  up  to  town,  as  he  was  not  fond  of 
town  manners  and  town  customs,  but  liked  better 
hunting,  coursing,  cock-fighting,  bull-baiting,  and 
engaging  in  intrigues  with  dairy  maids  and  the 
poppy-cheeked  daughters  of  his  cottagers.  He 
had  married  a  sweet  creature  of  fifteen,  whom 
after  their  brief  honeymoon  he  had  neglected  as 
such  men  neglect  a  woman,  leaving  her  to  break 
her  heart  and  lose  her  bloom  and  beauty  in  her 
helpless  mourning  for  his  past  passion  for  her.  He 
was  at  drawn  swords  with  his  next  of  kin,  who  de 
spised  him  and  his  evil,  rough  living,  and  he  had 
set  his  mind  upon  leaving  sons  enough  to  make 
sure  his  title  should  be  borne  only  by  his  own 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE         39 

offspring.  He  being  of  this  mind,  'twas  not  to  be 
wondered  at  that  he  had  no  welcome  for  the 
daughters  who  should  have  pleased  him  by  being 
sons.  When  the  first  was  born  he  flouted  its  mother 
bitterly,  the  poor  young  lady,  who  was  but  sixteen 
and  a  delicate  creature,  falling  into  a  fit  of  illness 
through  her  grief  and  disappointment.  The  com 
ing  of  the  second  threw  him  into  a  rage,  the  third 
into  a  fury ;  and  the  birth  of  a  fourth  being  an 
nounced,  he  stormed  like  a  madman,  would  not 
look  at  it,  and  went  upon  a  debauch  so  protracted 
and  disgraceful  as  to  be  the  scandal  of  the  county 
and  the  subject  of  gossip  for  many  a  day. 

From  that  hour  the  innocent  Lady  Wildairs 
did  not  raise  her  head.  Her  family  had  rejected 
her  on  account  of  her  marriage  with  a  rake  so 
unfashionable  and  of  reputation  so  coarse.  Wild- 
airs  Hall,  ill  kept,  and  going  to  ruin  through  the 
wasteful  living  of  its  spendthrift  master,  was  no 
place  for  such  guests  as  were  ladies  and  gentle 
men.  The  only  visitors  who  frequented  it  were  a 
dozen  or  so  chosen  spirits  who  shared  Sir  Jeof- 
fry's  tastes — hunted,  drank,  gambled  with  him, 
and  were  as  loose  livers  as  himself.  My  Lady 
Wildairs,  grown  thin,  yellow,  and  haggard,  shrank 
into  her  own  poor  corner  of  the  big  house,  a  bare 
west  wing  where  she  bore  her  children  in  lonely 
suffering  and  saw  them  die,  one  after  the  other, 
two  only  having  the  strength  to  survive.  She  was 


40        HIS   GRACE  OF   OSMONDE 

her  lord's  hopeless  slave,  and  at  the  same  time  the 
mere  knowledge  of  her  existence  was  an  irrita 
tion  to  him,  she  being  indeed  regarded  by  him  as 
a  Sultan  might  regard  the  least  fortunate  of  his 
harem. 

"  Damn  her/'  he  cried  once  to  one  of  his  cro 
nies,  a  certain  Lord  Eldershaw,  "  in  these  days  I 
hate  the  sight  of  her,  with  her  skinny  throat  and 
face.  What's  a  woman  for,  after  she  looks  like 
that  ?  If  she  were  not  hanging  about  my  neck  I 
could  marry  some  fine  strapping  girl  who  would 
give  me  an  heir  before  a  year  was  out." 

If  young  Roxholm  did  not  hear  this  special 
anecdote,  he  heard  others  from  various  sources 
which  were  productive  in  him  of  many  puzzled 
and  somewhat  anxious  thoughts.  "  Why  was  it," 
he  pondered,  "  that  women  who  had  not  the  happy 
fortune  of  his  mother  seemed  at  so  cruel  a  disad 
vantage — that  men  who  were  big  and  handsome 
having  won  them,  grew  tired  of  them  and  cast 
them  aside,  with  no  care  for  their  loneliness  and 
pain?  Why  had  God  so  made  them  that  they 
seemed  as  helpless  as  poor  driven  sheep?  'Twas 
not  fair  it  should  be  so — he  could  not  feel  it  honest, 
though  he  was  beset  by  grave  fears  at  his  own 
contumacy  since  he  had  been  taught  that  God 
ordained  all  things.  Had  he  ordained  this,  that 
men  should  be  tyrants,  and  base,  and  cruel,  and 
that  women  should  be  feeble  victims  who  had  but 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE        41 

the  power  to  moan  and  die  and  be  forgotten? 
There  was  my  Lord  Peterborough,  who  had 
fought  against  Algerine  pirates,  and  at  nineteen 
crowned  his  young  brow  with  glory  in  action  at 
Tripoli.  To  the  boyish  mind  he  was  a  figure  so 
brilliant  and  gallant  and  to  be  adored  that  it 
seemed  impossible  to  allow  that  his  shining  could 
be  tarnished  by  a  fault,  yet  'twas  but  a  year  after 
his  marriage  with  the  fair  daughter  of  Fraser  of 
Mearns  that  he  had  Avearied  of  his  love  and  gaily 
sailed  for  the  Algerine  coast  again.  Whether  the 
young  Countess  had  bewailed  her  lot  or  not,  Rox- 
holm  had  not  chanced  to  hear,  but  having  had  for 
husband  a  young  gentleman  so  dazzling  and  full 
of  fascination,  how  could  she  have  found  herself 
deserted  and  feel  no  heartache  and  shed  no  tears? 
My  lord  could  sail  away  and  fight  corsairs,  but 
her  poor  ladyship  must  remain  behind  and  do 
battle  only  with  her  heart,  gaining  no  laurels 
thereby. 

The  sentiment  of  the  times  was  not  one  which 
rated  women  high  or  was  fraught  with  consider 
ation  for  female  weakness.  Charles  Stuart  taught 
men  how  women  should  be  regarded,  and  the 
beauties  of  his  Court  had  aided  him  in  such  man 
ner  as  deepened  the  impression  he  had  produced. 
A  beauty  had  her  few  years  of  triumph  in  which 
she  was  pursued,  intrigued  with,  worshipped, 
flattered,  had  madrigals  sung  in  her  honour;  those 


42         HIS   GRACE  OF   OSMONDE 

years  over,  no  one  cared  to  hear  of  the  remainder 
of  her  life.  If  there  were  dregs  left  in  her  cup, 
she  drank  them  alone.  A  woman  who  had  no 
beauty  was  often  a  mere  drudging  or  child-bear 
ing  wife,  scapegoat  for  ill-humour  and  morning 
headaches  ;  victim,  slave,  or  unnoticed  append 
age.  This  the  whilom  toast  Lady  Wildairs  had 
become,  and  there  were  many  like  her. 

The  Earl  of  Dunstanwolde,  who  was  the  noble 
man  who  had  spoken  to  the  Duke  and  Duchess 
of  the  Gloucestershire  Baronet,  was  a  distant 
kinsman,  and  a  somewhat  frequent  visitor  both  at 
their  Graces'  country  estates  and  at  their  town 
establishment,  Osmonde  House.  His  own  estate 
was  near  Gloucestershire,  and  he  knew  the  stories 
of  Wildairs  Hall,  as  did  so  many  others. 

This  gentleman  was  somewhat  past  middle  age, 
and  was  the  owner  of  such  qualities  of  mind  and 
heart  as  had  won  for  him  the  friendship  of  all 
thinking  persons  who  knew  him.  A  man  of  kindly 
refinement  and  dignity,  familiar  with  arts  and  let 
ters,  and  generous  in  his  actions  both  to  his  equals 
and  his  inferiors,  he  was  of  ancient  blood,  and  had 
large  estates  in  the  country  and  a  great  house  in 
town. 

But,  notwithstanding  the  honourableness  of 
his  position,  and  the  ease  of  his  circumstances,  he 
was  not  a  happy  gentleman,  having  made  a  love- 
match  in  his  youth,  and  lost  his  passionately  wor- 


HIS   GRACE   OF  OSMONDE        43 

shipped  consort  at  the  birth  of  her  first  child,  who 
had  lived  but  two  hours.  He  had  been  so  happy 
in  his  union  that,  being  of  a  constant  nature,  he 
could  not  console  himself  for  his  bereavement, 
and  had  remained  a  widower,  content  that  his 
estates  and  titles  should  pass  to  a  distant  cousin 
who  was  the  next  heir.  He  was  a  sad-faced  gen 
tleman  with  delicately  cut  features,  and  eyes 
which  looked  as  if  they  had  beheld  sorrow,  there 
being  deep  lines  about  them,  and  also  about  his 
mouth. 

This  nobleman  had  for  Roxholm  a  great  attrac 
tion — his  voice,  his  bearing,  and  his  gentle  grav 
ity  all  seemed  to  convey  a  thing  which  reached 
the  boy's  heart.  On  his  own  part  the  childless 
man  had  from  the  first  felt  for  his  little  kinsman 
a  pathetic  affection.  Had  fate  been  kind,  instead 
of  cruel,  the  son  of  his  own  Alice  might  have  so 
bloomed  and  grown  stalwart  and  fair.  He  liked 
to  talk  with  the  child  even  when  he  was  but  a  few 
years  old,  and  as  time  passed,  and  he  shot  up  into 
a  handsome,  tall  lad,  their  friendship  became  a 
singularly  close  one.  When  my  lord  was  at  Ca- 
mylott  the  country  people  became  accustomed  to 
seeing  the  two  ride  through  the  lanes  together, 
the  gamekeepers  in  the  park  were  familiar  with 
the  sight  of  the  elder  gentleman  and  the  young 
Marquess  walking  side  by  side  down  unfrequented 
woodland  paths  engaged  in  earnest  conversation, 


44        HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

his  Lordship's  hand  oftenest  resting  on  the  young 
shoulder  as  they  went. 

There  was  a  subject  of  which  these  two  talked 
often,  and  with  great  interest,  it  being  one  for 
which  Roxholm  had  always  felt  a  love,  since  the 
days  when  he  had  walked  through  the  picture 
gallery  with  his  nurse,  looking  up  with  childish 
delight  at  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  in  the  family 
portraits,  asking  to  be  told  stories  of  their  do 
ings,  and  requiring  that  it  be  explained  to  him 
why  they  wore  costumes  which  seemed  strange 
to  him.  Mistress  Halsell  had  been  able  to  tell 
him  many  stories  of  them,  as  also  had  his  father 
and  mother  and  Mr.  Fox,  his  governour,  and  these 
stories  had  so  pleased  him  that  he  had  pondered 
upon  them  until  their  heroes  and  heroines  seemed 
his  familiar  friends,  and  made  of  as  firm  flesh 
and  real  blood  as  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  who 
were  his  kinswomen  and  kinsmen  to-day.  It  had 
always  been  his  pleasure  to  remember  that  the 
stories  to  be  told  of  them  were  such  fine  ones. 
There  were  Crusaders  among  them  who  had  done 
splendid  deeds;  there  were  men  who  had  fought 
by  the  side  of  their  King  in  battle,  and  there  were 
those  who  had  done  high  service  for  him  with 
brain  and  spoken  word  when  his  power  stood  in 
danger  of  being  overthrown.  To  the  boy  there 
seemed  indeed  to  have  been  no  battle  either  of 
Church  or  State,  or  with  enemies  in  open  field  in 


HIS   GRACE   OF  OSMONDE        45 

which  Mertouns  had  not  fought.  Long  before 
the  Conquest,  Normandy  had  known  their  high- 
strung  spirit  and  fiery  valour.  At  Senlac,  Guil- 
bert  de  Mertoun  had  stood  near  William  of  Nor 
mandy  when  he  gave  his  command  to  his  archers 
that  they  should  shoot  into  the  air,  whereby  an 
arrow  sought  English  Harold  for  its  mark  and 
pierced  him  through  eye  and  brain,  leaving  him 
slain,  and  William  conqueror.  This  same  Guil- 
bert,  William  had  loved  for  his  fierce  bravery  and 
his  splendid  aim  in  their  hunting  the  high  deer, 
of  whom  'twas  said  the  monarch  "  loved  them 
as  if  he  had  been  their  father  ;  "  and  when  the 
Domesday  Book  was  made,  rich  lands  were  given 
to  him  that,  as  the  King  said — there  should  be 
somewhat  worthy  of  his  holding  to  be  recorded 
therein.  It  had  been  a  Guilbert  de  Mertoun  who 
rode  with  Rufus  when  he  would  cross  to  Norman 
dy  to  put  down  insurrection  there.  These  two 
were  alike  in  their  spirit  (therefore  little  Roxholm 
had  ever  worshipped  both),  and  when  they  reached 
the  seashore  in  a  raging  storm,  and  the  sailors, 
from  fear,  refused  to  put  forth,  and  Rufus  cried, 
u  Heard  ye  ever  of  a  King  who  was  drowned," 
'twas  Guilbert  who  sprang  forward  swearing  he 
would  set  sail  himself  if  others  would  not,  and 
so  stirred  the  cowards  with  his  fierce  passionate 
courage  that  they  obeyed  the  orders  given  them 
and  crossed  the  raging  sea's  arm  in  the  tempest, 


46        HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

Guilbert  standing  in  their  midst*  spurring  them 
with  shouts,  while  the  wind  so  raged  that  only  a 
man  of  giant  strength  could  have  stood  upright, 
and  his  voice  could  scarce  be  heard  above  its 
fury.  And  'twas  he  who  was  at  the  front  when 
the  insurgents  were  overpowered.  Of  this  one, 
of  whom  'twas  handed  down  that  he  was  of  huge 
build,  and  had  beard  and  hair  as  flaming  as  Rufus's 
own,  there  were  legends  which  made  him  the  idol 
of  Roxholm's  heart  in  his  childhood.  Again  and 
again  it  had  been  his  custom  to  demand  that  they 
should  be  repeated  to  him — the  stories  of  the  stags 
he  had  pierced  to  the  heart  in  one  day's  hunting 
in  the  New  Forest — the  story  of  how  he  was  held 
in  worship  by  his  villeins,  and  of  his  mercifulness 
to  them  in  days  when  nobles  had  the  power  of  life 
and  death,  and  to  do  any  cruelty  to  those  in  serv 
itude  to  them. 

In  Edward  the  Third's  time,  when  the  Black 
Death  swept  England,  there  had  lived  another 
Guilbert  who,  having  for  consort  a  lovely,  noble 
lady,  they  two  had  hand  in  hand  devoted  them 
selves  to  battling  the  pestilence  among  their  serfs 
and  retainers,  and  with  the  aid  of  a  brother  of 
great  learning  (the  first  Gerald  of  the  house) 
had  sought  out  and  discovered  such  remedies  as 
saved  scores  of  lives  and  modified  the  sufferings 
of  all.  At  the  end  of  their  labours,  when  the  vio 
lence  of  the  plague  was  assuaged,  the  lovely  lady 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE        47 

Aloys  had  died  of  the  fatigues  she  had  borne  and 
her  husband  had  devoted  himself  to  a  life  of  mer 
ciful  deeds,  the  history  of  which  was  a  wondrous 
thing  for  an  impassioned  and  romance-loving  boy 
to  pore  over. 

Upon  the  romances  of  these  lives  the  imagina 
tion  of  the  infant  Roxholm  had  nourished  itself, 
and  the  boy  Roxholm  being  so  fed  had  builded 
his  young  life  and  its  ideals  upon  them. 

It  was  of  these  ancestors  of  his  house  and  of 
their  high  deeds  he  found  pleasure  and  profit  in 
talking  to  his  kinsman  and  friend,  and  'twas  an 
incident  which  took  place  during  one  of  my  Lord 
Dunstanwolde's  visits  to  Camylott  which  led 
them  to  this  manner  of  converse. 

Roxholm  was  but  eleven  years  old  when  in  tak 
ing  a  barred  gate  on  a  new  horse  the  animal  leapt 
imperfectly  and,  falling  upon  his  rider,  broke  a  leg 
and  two  ribs  for  him.  The  injuries  were  such  as 
all  knew  must  give  the  boy  sharp  anguish  of  body, 
when  he  was  placed  upon  a  hurdle  and  carried 
home.  His  father  galloped  to  the  tower  to  break 
the  news  to  her  Grace  and  prepare  her  for  his 
coming.  My  Lord  Dunstanwolde  walked  by  the 
hurdle  side,  and  as  he  did  so,  watching  the  boy 
closely,  he  was  touched  to  see  that  though  his 
beautiful  young  face  was  white  as  death  and  he 
lay  with  closed  eyes,  he  uttered  no  sound  and  his 
lips  wore  a  brave  smile. 


48        HIS   GRACE   OF  OSMONDE 

"  Is  your  pain  great,  Roxholm  ?  "  Tny  Lord  asked 
with  tender  sympathy. 

Roxholm  opened  his  eyes  and,  still  smiling-, 
blushed  faintly. 

"I  think  of  John  Cuthbert  de  Mertoun,"  he  said 
in  a  low. voice.  "  It  aids  me  to  hold  the  torment 
at  bay." 

He  spoke  the  words  with  some  shyness,  as  if 
feeling  that  one  older  than  himself  might  smile  at 
the  romantic  wildness  of  his  fancy.  But  this  my 
Lord  Dunstanwolde  did  not,  understanding  him 
full  well,  and  lying  a  hand  on  his  pressed  it  with 
warm  affection.  The  story  of  John  Cuthbert  was, 
that  a  hound  suddenly  going  mad  one  day  while 
he  hunted  deep  in  the  forest,  it  had  attacked  a 
poor  follower  and  would  have  torn  his  throat  had 
his  lord  not  come  to  his  rescue,  pulling  the  beast 
from  him  and  drawing  its  fury  upon  himself, 
whereby  in  his  battle  with  it  he  was  horribly  bit 
ten  ;  and  when  the  animal  lay  dead  upon  the 
sward  he  drew  his  hunting-knife  and  cut  out  the 
mangled  flesh  with  his  own  hand,  "and  winced 
not  nor  swouned,"  as  the  chronicle  recorded  with 
open  joy  in  him. 

'Twas  while  Roxholm  lay  in  bed  recovering  of 
his  injuries  that  his  kinsman  referred  to  this 
again,  asking  him  what  thoughts  he  had  had  of 
this  hero  and  wherein  he  had  felt  them  an  aid, 
and  the  boy's  answers  and  the  talk  which  followed 


HIS  '(SA'ACE^OF*  OSMONt* 


i'  Had  been  t  lie  beginning  of  matff 
versations,  his  Lordship  finding  theMybuft£J 
fWl*GPQrij*<wrf  SM  -fine  imagin&tibiif.  ^Ofteii^as 
ihey  conversed  in  after  times,  the  older  man  was 
moved  -by  the  cbur'ageous  fancies  'and  stfotig^ 
high  ideals  he  found  himself  •  temf  rbiiting,  'Twas 
and  beautiful,  and  there  was  such 
in  the  thought  that  life  might  hold^lbu&s 
the  gotd'bf  it;  J  >Tid;but4m¥nan  th^tHhos^ 
W  baturer  years  who  have*  kubwii  sorrow  should 
bfe'  r^miMed^of  it'By  ^th^v^ry^ttlt^  y^d^oyMrress 
ol  ^>iith:^'  &de  of  the  fine  features  of  the  Towbr 
of  Ca'Wylott  was  its  Long  Gallery,  which  Was  of 
s^cfo  length  anrf  bfeix*th.  kricl  ;s^  'finti;f  pahell^d  >aS 
to  be  renowlied  through  kll  the  land;  At  eacn 
end  the  broad  windows  looked  out  upbiv  noble 
stretches  of  varying  hill  and  tall  and 
forest,  and  in  wet  wtiatlier;  wtien^th?c!! 
full  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  woul-d 
there,  chatting  or  :  s^nnlefimesY^layirig  g-kwey  to 


"Id1  'such 

his  young  kinsman  ^someti  toes'  pacetf  whole  mbrri- 
ings  away  together*,5  kiiB'^t  was  on  such  an  occasidA 
that  there  first  entered  Jihtb  R^x$ioJm^  lite  •$&& 
WHich  later  'rifled  ^tid'-Hited1^  Stfcd^a^  =itg  'very 
self.     But  at  thiskimeto  W&s  scarcely  ' 
'twas  but  the;  first  'strange  Chapter  bf5!a 
;  ill  nb  way  drea'hiihg  'kh&  '-twis  ' 


50         HIS  GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

which  his  own  deepest  pain  and  highest  raptures 
would  be  part. 

Often  as  the  years  passed,  my  Lord  Dunstan- 
wolde  looked  back  upon  this  December  day  and 
remembered  how,  as  they  walked  to  and  fro,  he 
had  marked  for  the  hundredth  time  how  beautiful 
and  picturesque  a  figure  the  boy  made  in  his  suit 
of  rich-coloured  brocade,  his  curling,  warm  brown 
hair  falling  on  his  shoulders  in  thick,  natural 
curls  such  as  no  perruquier  could  imitate,  the 
bloom  of  health  and  out-door  life  upon  his  cheek, 
his  handsome,  well-opened  eye  sparkling  or  melt 
ing  in  kindly  warmth  as  he  conversed.  He  was 
a  tall,  straight-limbed  lad,  and  had  by  this  time  at 
tained  such  height  and  so  bore  himself  that  there 
were  but  few  inches  between  his  noble  kinsman 
and  himself,  though  the  years  between  them  were 
so  many,  and  my  Lord  Dunstanwolde  was  of  no 
mean  stature. 

Outside  a  heavy  rain  fell,  deluging  the  earth 
and  drenching  such  grass  as  the  winter  had  left, 
covering  with  its  faded  tussocks  the  sweep  of  the 
park  lands.  The  sky  was  heavy  with  leaden  clouds 
from  which  the  water  fell  in  sweeping  dashes. 
Having  walked  for  some  time,  the  two  stopped 
before  the  wide  bay  window  at  the  east  end  of 
the  Long  Gallery  and  watched  the  deluge  for  a 
space,  marking  how  the  drops  splashed  upon  the 
terrace,  how  the  birds  flew  before  it,  and  how  the 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE         51 

deer  huddled  together  under  the  stripped  trees 
as  if  glad  of  the  small  shelter  their  trunks  and 
bare  branches  could  afford. 

"  Such  a  day  brings  back  to  a  man  the  gloomi 
est  things  he  knows,"  said  Lord  Dunstanwolde 
after  a  few  moments'  silent  gazing  upon  the 
scene.  "  I  no  sooner  paused  here  to  look  forth 
at  the  greyness  than  there  came  back  to  me  a 
hard  tale  I  heard  before  I  left  Gloucestershire. 
'Twas  another  tale  of  Wildairs,  Gerald." 

"Of  Sir  Jeoffry?"  said  Roxholm,  with  interest. 
It  had  happened  that  some  time  before  Lord 
Dunstanwolde  had  heard  of  the  impression  made 
upon  him  by  the  story  of  the  poor  lady  and  her 
brutal  lord  and  master.  More  than  once  they 
had  spoken  together  of  Wildairs  Hall,  and  those 
who  rioted,  and  those  who  suffered,  in  it,  and 
Roxholm  had  learned  that,  year  by  year  the 
Gloucestershire  baronet's  living  had  grown  wilder 
and  more  dissolute,  until  his  mad  follies  had  cut 
him  off  from  the  companionship  of  all  reputable 
persons,  and  he  spent  his  days  in  brutal  sports, 
drink,  and  rough  entertainment  with  a  dozen  men 
as  little  respected  as  himself.  His  money  he  had 
squandered  and  gambled  away  at  dice,  his  estate 
fell  to  greater  ruin  every  year,  and  no  heir  had 
come  to  him,  his  poor  helpmeet  having  at  length 
given  him  eight  daughters,  but  two  of  whom  had 
lived.  His  rage  at  this  had  increased  even  be- 


5?        MIS  •• 

yond  S-te.1  -first  fury  <as  <k<e  realised^  that'  ^ach  new 
yfl*ndj£flL'Qf  hen  !  Jady$h  i|>  fes<a  nterigefcfclfpiiitbc 
county.  So  it  was  that  the  bop  turned  towards 
Jiia  kihs  ai4n  rwith  antergsty.  Cor>m<sbnie<  manner  the 
ifrishaps?  afntftiS  >  wrtUhe.d  'family  ,4  always  fnioved 
inolta  'ainomorn  wol  K  loJls 
lie,S$id;>noo2  on  1"  .orroos 

6  "  QfoSitf  JeD§ry^>  m^i  (Lord  fDunstanwolde  an- 
.wiefrndt;  >"  but  )not  >feoi  mudh  lof  •  hinisdf  dsl  df  his 
poor  lady.N  Ati^t^hbii&'daacbTn)  lojlionr.  H.GV/T' 
.j^^E>e4diHW9oKho.tofet4lairtied.»  \\ff  IDead  M')  stnd 
jhi&.toice-feli,  and  iie-stood  a  moment  apd;  wlatcihfcti 
the  dni^ia1  raioi  full  6£  $trand)thoiihts^/;},:(njf  1 


eajasnot?  f^el  ^soWow  .for  her.!  :'H6w<ididhshfe 
T  eih-h!i7/  io  loillo^o)  n-»foqa  I^d 
bnti  ^»$  wioqfullyv:and  a>  neglected  r>asj>shei  lived;/' 
his  Loudship:  answered^  ;  ^She:hadfgt^eni!biitb,tb 
aridther?  /female  inf  an  t;  and  .  -,'  t  vvais  plain  rtfae  ?  p6b)r 
vfi  hef  last  ibbiur^iiadfnconie*  She  Iwas 
>  on?ef  -ig«©irant?  w>om  aln,  wh6  %as  i  all 
tsbe  fyadltOh-aid  he^ittheiilionii^^f  trial,  n  rX  he  night 
fbe,forie>'Sili  leotffry  fhaduheld  dudrihking  bout  with 
ihia  bofcin  cdrnpahiomsj>ahd  in  the'niorn- 
theytweire  gathdifeidi  noisEy  in  the  court- 
ifoiTth  tuntin^the  old  woman?  appeared 
;;  midst  ;Jta  acquaint  her;  mastenbfnthe  in- 
irtht^andl  to-f  bring-a  :ibe'ssagenfr6m;  her 
-mistress,  ;who  begg*ed  her?  lord  to  conifc  to  her 


HIS'  ©R  AGE  OF  <  0SMONKE 


before  he  rode  forth1,  saying  that  she 
ill,  and  wished-  greatly  to  see  him.'*     His 
paused  a  moment,  and  a  shadow  passed 
across  his  idounten&ncey  brotfgiit  'there  >by  a  sad 
memory.  -»    babifi    svsd   ,  <j    .hi^'mi   oilw 

l.'iiYoupgi  Roxbolni  turned  towards  <  him  and 
waited  with  a  sneaking  look  for  his  next* 

"  Then—  niy  lord—?"  he  broke  '  forth  ••in 
ing-ly.  'Lord  Dunstanwolde  passed  %is  hand* 
his  forehead.  no  gidl  —  sboov/  e-ill 

r:)i"«He  would  not  jg-o/'  he  answered?  *-he  ,w0tild 
not  go.  He  sent  a  ribald  message  to>$hB  *'pi©o* 
soul—  cursing  the  child  she  had  brought  into  ihe 
world,  and  then  -'he  'rode-  away.  The  servants  'fe&Jy 
that  the  old  woman  had  'left  her  niistress  alobeUA 
her  chamber  and  came  down  to  eat  andf«dHbk'. 
When  she  wfcnt  bacflc  >to  h«r  charge  ?  the  frrei  hsad 
gone:  out^4tHe  !  rooml  'was  cold  as«^hei  grave*,  and 
the  poor  lady  ;  iay  stbne  de^d/J  hief-  'head  fallen 
upon  her  toailingi'lnf&nVs  'b<bdy*  in  such  kaniier 
that,  had  not  the  child  been  stronger  ttoari  imost 
new-born  things  alnd  febighlpfbr  -tellie/itiW-ould 
have  been  smothered  in  its  first  hour." 

The  boy  Marquess  turned  suddenly  away  and 
took  several  hurried  steps  up  the  Long  Gallery. 
When  he  returned  his  forehead  was  flushed,  his 
eyes  sparkled  with  an  inward  fire,  and  his  breath 
came  quickly  —  but  he  found  no  words  to  utter. 

"  Once,"   said   Lord    Dunstanwolde,  slowly,  "  I 


54        HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

saw  a  tender  creature  die  after  her  travail— but 
she  was  beloved  to  worship,  and  our  hearts  stood 
still  in  our  bosoms  as  we  waited.  Mine  has  never 
seemed  to  beat  truly  since  then.  Her  child — • 
who  might,  perchance,  have  aided  me  to  live 
again,  and  who  would  have  been  my  hope  and 
joy  and  pride,  died  with  her.  This  poor  thing, 
unwanted,  hated,  and  cast  aside  to  live  or  die — 
as  if  it  were  the  young  of  some  wild  creature  of 
the  woods — this  one,  they  say,  has  the  strength 
of  ten,  and  will  survive.  God  have  mercy  on  its 
evil  fortunes." 

Young  Roxholm  stood  with  folded  arms  gazing 
straight  before  him  again  into  the  driving  rain. 
His  brow  was  knit,  and  he  was  biting  his  boyish 
red  lip. 

"  Is  there  mercy  ?  "  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  at 
length.  "  Is  there  justice,  since  a  human  thing 
can  be  so  cast  into  the  world — and  left  alone  ?  " 

Lord  Dunstanwolde  put  his  hand  upon  his 
shoulder, 

"  All  of  us  ask,"  he  said.     "  None  of  us  knows." 


CHAPTER  V 
My  Lord  Marquess,  Plunges  into  tloe  Thames 

A  RICH  young  nobleman  at  the  University  of 
Oxford,  who,  having  all  the  resources  of  wealth 
and  rank  at  his  disposal,  chose  in  these  times  to 
devote  himself  to  scholarly  pursuits,  made  in  the 
minds  of  his  fellow-collegians  a  singular  and  ec 
centric  figure ;  but  that  one,  more  splendidly  en 
dowed  by  fortune  than  any  other,  should  so 
comport  himself,  and  yet  no  man  find  it  possible 
to  deride  or  make  coarse  jokes  on  him,  was,  in 
deed,  unheard  oL 

Yet,  when  the  young  heir  of  the  house  of  Os- 
monde  entered  the  University,  this  was  the  po 
sition  he  held  and  which  none  disputed.  There 
were  gay  young  rakes  and  ardent  young  toadies 
who,  hearing  of  his  coming  among  them,  fell  into 
anticipation:  the  first,  of  more  splendid  frolics, 
the  second,  of  richer  harvests;  and  though  each 
party  was  disappointed  in  its  expectation,  neither 
found  opportunity  to  display  its  chagrin  accord 
ing  to  the  customary  methods. 

It  is,  indeed,  a  strange  thing,  how  a  man's  physi 
cal  body  may  be  his  fortune  or  his  enemy.  All 
the  world  has  at  times  beheld  those  whom  an  in- 

55 


56        HIS  GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

significant  figure  and  an  ill-modelled  face  handi 
capped  with  a  severity  cruel  to  the  utmost.     A 
great  man  five  feet  high,  and  awkward  of  bearing, 
has  always  added  'to  his,  efforts  at  accomplishing 
great  dee^ls  the  weight  .of  an  obs^agle  ^wh^ch  he 
must  first  remove  from  about  his  neck—  the  obsta- 
"po'oV  cixtef  ior  creates.'    'An  eloquent 
Vdiae  i^'  Ci4ct!ed  and  ;hiarsH  by  nature 
:firel}itself  before  he!  ckn  burn  aWay  the 
r1  bet  weeivhiftifeedf?&fcd>h  is'  lleiireittj'k  proph- 
'  ignobly  featured  countenance  and  a 
,  Vague  eye  must  needs-be  a  god  of  wisdom 
'to  p!e!r§uade  hisjdis€iples  that  high-  nobleness  cdh 
^elPih-a  bettipf!e^o5rilean(a}id^  poor.-  The  physi- 
"(?ilibiofdylW'thfe  young-  Marquess  of  Roxholm'-was 
a  fortress  well-nigh  impregnable.1  '  '^Tis  nb#*well  to 

tikes  none  hlm- 

/'a^d  fc^h  ^HfceT.  $-1:ttbW'Whteb  \toiildiell  'an  ox, 

was?  in  -ithid  ybung 
man's  look  arid  :-  temper"  a  something  whioh,  while 
e  familiadties,  won  to  itself  thd  pkbs- 
atid  ^ffe^tlMi  ^f  >  ali^  beholders. 
lull  of  ^fi^e  Utiti  %4aMn^,  Af  'ia\igh*er 

into-thfe  Driest 


a  look  of  scorn  whit&PdduM  ^MCbe^^^ft^l^'  He 


feis 
>en  4h&s&2vefed  fatoied^ltife 

5c 


;HiTS  '(  &RACE  OF  OSMONRE        57 


aftd  ]whose  spite  would;  have 
ligned  him  had  he  been  of  different  nature,  . 
-iq}  a  measure  restrained  from  their  bitterness  by 
a  certain  powerful  composure,;  which  all  fejt  who 
looked  on  him  and  heard  him  speak.  .  .-q  ?\{\   rfjjv/ 
.nofWw/^ithis;  composure  and;  commanding!}  ess  of 
,  bearing  which  \  were  more  marked  in  him  than 
all  else.     'Twas  not  mere  ;  coolness,  but  a  great 
,pawer    over    himself;  ,  and    all    hip  ,  .weaknesses, 
MWhich  years  of  self-study  had  begot  i;n  him,  the 
truth    being   indeed   that   he  .himself,  had   early 

a  measure  a  thing  one  of  the 
^  instructors;  ait  the  University  had  once  s 

the  strength  of  his  great  bo 
his  fervid  mind,  all  the  power  of  his  wealth  and 
,  all  the  influence  of  his  beauty  and  passion 
$ml  an$  dishonourable  courses,  instead 
of  to^more-  noble;  things,  good  ;God  I  what  a,  devil 
he  might  \)^r^il  enough  to  rujn^jf  England. 
feat  weak  woman  could  resist  him  ;  what  yipiquiS 

l<^ji^^  ]0  IIEHI  j; 

Sp  easy  for  ^a-man-  who  will  he  Puke 
t.  courses,"  Roxholm  had 
once  said  to  Mr.  Fox,  "  as  'tis  for  a  man  w:ho  must 

i^o^:  fpi]}J}i^(iai|y  bread. 
a  ma-n  jwlp  is  six;  feet  three.  in  height  has 
^ipc  fj^e^  (an$-.thrf£e  ij??che^  flfj;e^il:  to  d«P  baUle,  wit}), 
i(  h?  has  not  six  feet  three  of  strength  and  hon- 

'!^  r 


58        HIS   GRACE   OF  OSMONDE 

may  live  in  dread  of,  if  Gerald  Mertoun  is  not  my 
help  and  stay." 

This  he  said  half  laughing,  half  sober,  after  his 
first  visit  to  the  French  Court,  which  he  made 
with  his  parents  and  saw  many  strange  though 
brilliant  things,  giving  him  cause  for  reflection. 
Tender  as  his  years  were  at  the  time,  he  was  so 
big  and  finely  built  a  fellow  for  his  age,  and  so 
beautiful  to  look  upon,  that  there  were  ladies 
wrho  even  tried  their  bright  eyes  upon  him  as  if  he 
had  been  a  man  instead  of  a  youth ;  and  he  en 
countered  many  youngsters  of  his  years  who  had 
already  done  much  more  than  dally  on  the  brink 
of  life,  some,  indeed,  having  plunged  deep  into 
waters  not  overclean. 

Some  of  these  last  regarded  him  at  least  as  one 
who  neglected  his  opportunities,  but  his  great 
laugh  at  their  callow  jests  and  their  advice  to 
him  was  so  frank  and  indifferent  a  thing  that  they 
found  it  singularly  baffling.  'Twas  indeed  as  if 
a  man  of  ripe  years  and  wisdom  had  laughed  at 
them  with  good -nature,  because  he  knew  they 
could  not  understand  the  thing  experience  had 
taught  him. 

"  Why  should  I  be  pleased  because  a  beauty 
older  than  my  mother  laughs  and  teases  me," 
he  said.  "  I  am  but  a  boy,  and  she  knows  it  full 
well,  and  would  only  play  with  me  to  see  if  I  am 
a  fool  who  can  be  made  a  toy.  I  am  too  big," 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE        59 

stretching  his  great  arms,  "  to  sit  at  ladies'  feet 
and  have  my  curls  stroked  as  if  I  were  a  lap-dog. 
A  fellow  such  as  I  should  be  exercising  his  body 
and  putting  somewhat  in  his  brain.  Why  should 
I  overdrink  and  overfeed  myself  and  give  my 
strength  to  follies  ?  'Tis  not  my  taste.  On  my 
life,  I  would  rather  get  up  at  daybreak  with  a 
clear  tongue  and  a  clear  head  and  go  out  to  leap 
and  ride  and  fence  and  toss  the  bar  with  well- 
strung  muscles.  Some  day  I  shall  meet  a  beauty 
whom  I  would  be  ready  for."  And  he  laughed 
his  big,  musical,  boyish  laugh  again  and  his  taw 
ny  eye  sparkled. 

At  the  University  there  were  temptations 
enough  to  lead  youth  to  folly,  even  when  it  was 
not  such  youth  as  his,  and  therefore  a  shining 
mark.  The  seed  Charles  Stuart  had  sown  had 
flourished  and  grown  rank  and  strong,  so  that 
the  great  seat  of  learning  was  rich  with  dissolute 
young  fools  and  madcaps  and  their  hangers-on. 
But  even  the  most  foolish  swaggerer  of  them 
could  not  call  milksop  a  man  who  could  out 
ride,  outleap,  outfence,  outhunt  him  ;  who  could 
drive  the  four  horses  of  his  coach  to  London 
and  back  at  such  a  pace  and  in  such  a  manner  as 
made  purple-faced  old  stage-coach  drivers  shake 
their  heads  with  glee,  and  who,  in  a  wrestling- 
match,  could  break  a  man's  back  at  a  throw  if  he 
chose  to  be  unmerciful.  Besides  this,  he  was  pop- 


<x?        Has  ORACE  i  OF  I  GSMONBB 

ular  'for  a;  sco  re  of  reasons,  being  no  .sanctimo 
nious  preacher  of  his  doctrines,  but  #s[  joyous  a 
liver  as  any  among  theni  and  as^  open-handed  and 
hi'gh  of  spirit.  ::;  i'i  h,i!  <>niJ-)uq  bun 

"  Tis  not  for  me  to  say  how^otlbeF  tiign'  Should 
Ijve,"  -was  his*,  simple4-  and  <  ^traightforwa<rd  'creed. 
'fc  1  1  farce  ais  Hike  'best  and  find  besfc  pay&'me' 
for  6theirsNto  seek  out  and  follow  what  best 
themselves."  ;  •'!  l.»fu;  t:L*M  bui; 

/  iManl^iasstoiiy  was  told*  of  -him  which  his  fellows 
liked,  y6uth  aWays  being:  elated  by  any  de«d  of 
prowess;  alnd  .daring  in  youth.  One  of  these  ^sto^ 
ries,  which  was  indeed  no  great  one,  but  picture 
esqiie  apd  pretty,-  took  their  fancy  greatly,  ?and 
was  much  related-  and  -;  laughed  gkiiy  <dVeff^  and1 
indeed  beloved.  it  bun  ^ld  ?.&  il1iro"{  H-J 

He  was  a  strong  and  wbndrbds  swimmer, 
ingf  learned  the  dnt;nni;his  childhood  ^oi4  the  - 
coast^  beirigi  -tatight  by  his  Grace  his  father  j 
W  hem  at  Oxford  dtrwas  his  custom  to  rise  before 
the  !nesifc>of  .'the  worid,<-aihd  In  any  weather  or  sea 
son  plunge  iato,  the:  :rwe^  ahdn  sii^im  iaiid'dive! 
and  play  in  the  water  like  a  young;  -riMer*  god. 
Hei  ,  jha.d  chosen  =a  favbifrite  swihiwiirig-s^bt  an-d1 
would  undress:  under  cover  of  the  trees  and  then 
da$h(*>U;t  toi  this  pastime,  arid  it  so  chanced  that 
going  the?re:  oriQtfelot  lafcternobn  (he  fell  jupbniatt 


-.^A  party  .of  jolly  personages!  of-  the  imiddle  class, 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSM0NBE        61 


up  from  town  on  I  pleasure*  and 
rollicking'  interest,  were  tattings  jail  nfc;  rip  on  the 
liver  -id)  a(wne.ir  y.  Twas  a  weddingi-party,'  aa*d 
both/males  and  females,  having  dined  well  at  a 
ftfiivern,  werd  weilil  filled  with?  ale  and  in  the  nlood 
for  disporting-  themselves.  The  groom'  mnd  his 
riien  friends,  being  in  f  frolicsomenshumour  dnd 
knowing  nothing  whatever  ;  of  s  oarsmanship,  were 
.playing;  great-  p  ranks;  to  (make  the;  women  -scream 
at  their  iidarihguJ;  Th&;bridev  a?  plretty  tiling  in 
cherry  iribbands,?clUng  tb^the  bdat's  side  in  aftla^e 
al  the  heroic  swag;gferrof'  her  hewl  lordybdi  her 
chbeksi  iwhich  !  had*  Watched  Iheri  ribbands,.'  gf^\V 
palesr.'abiearih^oclq  and  dip  M  itHeffcoat;  atid^h^r 
fea»p  %>r06d  .»  i  little  J  shrieksi  if  xam  •>  hbrf^n  ji  Her1 
partiotis  shrieked  too;  but  !laugh!ngl  ji:and  <•  in 
manner  as  but  spurred  the  men  to  greater  if  p'llie& 
Hhe  t  sport  :wias^ratt  fits'  ^hi^hei^t  ^and'  nblslefetiivMen 
the  3/3  neared  th^  spot  all  Oxford  kn«ew  1  b^^  *  this 
I5»ie  by  the  ^name  of  "-  my  Lord  Marque  s^^  fiivi- 
irig<  hole."  At  this  point  thp  TiHterfwafe  broiad  and 
^eep,  &tid  not  fdr  feelbwat'th-^  water,  waibed  ov^er 
a  wdirihear  iwhieh;  was  a  pdst^t>eabing^a  board 
marked  ^Danger  !^;  hi  To  ;th^sq  who'/  knew  Utii 
watersl  and<  had  I  some  skill  wMW  their  k>a?si  'there 
w'as  nd  peril^  but  t0  a  i  crew  efrdrin 
ers  it  ••  was  an  ill-omened  pia]C6]  '  >  «  The 
pdrty  was  too  wild  and  young  dnd 
observe  the  sign-board.  The  men  rocked  the 


62        HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

boat,  shouted  and  sang,  the  women  squealed  and 
laughed  and  shouted  with  them ;  the  little  bride 
burst  forth  weeping,  shrieking  wildly  the  next 
moment  as  the  wherry  was  overset,  and  the  whole 
party  struggled  in  the  water,  the  hat,  with  its 
cherry-ribbands,  floating  on  the  top. 

Some  distance  above  there  were  people  walk 
ing.  Shrieks  filled  the  air  and  roused  all  within 
sight  to  running  and  shouting.  Poor  gasping, 
choking,  deadly  faced  heads  bobbed  up  a  moment 
on  the  river's  surface  and  went  under  struggling. 

"  Help  !  Help  !  "  shouted  the  running  people. 
"  God  save  them  all !  Good  Lord  !  Good  Lord  ! " 
And  in  the  midst  of  it  out  sprang  from  among 
the  trees  and  bushes  the  great  white  body  of  a 
man,  who  dashed  into  the  stream  and  swam  like 
a  dolphin, 

If  he  had  been  clothed  the  drowning  creatures 
would  have  had  somewhat  to  drag  upon— if  he 
had  not  been  as  strong  as  a  giant  and  cool  enough 
to  control  them,  the  poor  strangling  fools  would 
have  so  hampered  him  in  their  frenzy  that  they 
might  have  dragged  him  tinder  water  with  them. 
But  there  was  a  power  in  him  and  a  freedom  from 
all  sense  of  peril  which  dominated  them  all. 

"  Keep  your  senses  and  you  are  safe,"  he 
shouted,  swimming  and  pushing  the  overturned 
boat  within  reach  of  the  men,  who  struggled  to 
gether. 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE        63 

His  voice  rang  like  a  clarion  and  held  in  it  such 
encouragement  that  the  poor  little  bride,  who 
came  up  gasping  near  him  at  that  moment,  almost 
took  him  for  a  god  as  he  shot  to  her  rescue. 

"  Your  hand  on  my  shoulder;  be  brave,  my  girl 
—be  brave,"  he  cried  out  with  such  good  cheer 
as  would  have  put  heart  in  any  woman  and  aided 
her  to  gather  her  poor  frightened  wits  and  obey 
him  like  a  child,  while  even  in  the  midst  of  her 
terror,  as  her  little  red  hands  clung  to  him,  she 
marked,  half  unconsciously  the  beauty  and  vigour 
of  him — his  strong  white  neck  like  a  column,  the 
great  corded  muscles  of  his  white  arms  as  he 
clove  the  water  through. 

He  bore  her  to  the  shore  and  left  her  safe  there, 
and  plunged  in  again,  crying  to  her,  over  his 
shoulder:  "I  will  bring  back  the  others!"  And 
she  stood  dripping,  gazing  after  him,  sobbing  and 
wringing  her  hands,  but  filled  with  wild  admira 
tion  and  amaze. 

He  shouted  orders  to  the  sobered  men  to  hold 
steady  to  the  wherry  and  dived  to  bring  back  one 
woman  after  another  to  firm  land ;  a  boat  found 
in  the  osiers  was  put  forth  above,  and  in  time  all 
were  brought  to  shore,  though  the  bridegroom, 
who  had  not  come  near  enough  to  the  wherry, 
was  dragged  in  looking  like  a  dead  man. 

The  bride  flung  herself  upon  his  body,  shriek 
ing  and  kissing  him.  The  people  who  had  run  up 


I QSMONBE 

crowded:  ybo^t«  in;  senseless  exciteffienb  and  wiotld 
ha^e  kept  all  air  aw$y.;U  Butt  there  was  one 
among  them  who  had;  his  wits  clear  'and  ordered 
them  off)  plainly;  reinlembering  hot  for  a  < moment 
that  his  brocades  and  laces  day  >Md  among  the 
trees,  and  he  stood  among  -them  as  Ap.ollo-  Stands 
in  biaiibte.  iir-mov/-  ^iir.  ni  J-if;jf{  hrq  ->7r,d  bluow  Rii 

"Bring  brandy,''  foe  commanded  <  the  nearest! 
^^ta'nd'back ;  sMpihisxlotbesifro.ih  him  and  ehipty 
the  water  'from  his  Stomachi »  Here,''  to  a  matron 
who  had  come  up  painting,  "  take  his  wife  away^'f 
!  'The  g<k>d  woman  he  addressed  dropped -a  hitr- 
tibd  curtsey  ^nd  hustled  off  the  woinao  vinder 
her  wing.  She  led  them  into  the  su-n  .and!  Jwmrig 
tte  'water  from  th'err  garments,  while  they  sobbed 
^rid  ^chaked'dnd'wept/  f>  .tnrr^r.  ni  b-j^aniq  bnc 

""  Hush  thee-  w^icbl^  ^hb  sa5kiv/td  the  islrickein 
fotfidej f  &  Hush  thee^  little  fool ;  my  lord  Marque&s 
-will  'put- life  into  him  ind-feetlhimi  cm  hrs^feet^be- 
fore  thy  petticoats  are  dry,  Lord  !  Lord  !  wliat 
a  young  man!  When  built  Heaven  such!  an 
other?  And  hea  Duke's  son  H!j(f\7  s<i)  o.t  vj 

"A  Marquess!  --  cried  ohe>  of  the;  bradefs  friends. 
H^A» Nikkei's ^oal'^s^b^dihe ?bride^  stoiio  -nil  nr 

"  Ay,  a  Duke's  son! ''  .the  good  iwpmaiii  cried, 
<extiltinfg  further.  ^  And  were  he  a  King's,  the 
nation  might  ^be  proud  of  him.  'Tis  his  .young 
lorddhip  tber  Mafrq^eps  M  Roxhplmi''  ^bhd 


CHAPTER  W 

"  No  ;  She  has  not  yet  Come  to  Court " 

'Tis  but  a  small  adventure  for  a  youth  who  is 
a  strong  swimmer  to  save  a  party  of  cits  from 
drowning  in  a  river,  but  'twas  a  story  much  re 
peated,  having  a  picturesqueness  and  colour  be 
cause  its  chief  figure  nature  had  fitted  out  with 
all  the  appointments  which  might  be  expected  to 
adorn  a  hero. 

"  Tis  a  pretty  story,  too,"  said  a  laughing  great 
lady  when  'twas  talked  of  in  town.  "  My  lord 
Marquess  dashing  in  and  out  of  the  river,  bearing 
in  his  big  white  arms  soused  little  citizen  beauties 
and  their  half-drowned  sweethearts,  and  towering 
in  their  midst  giving  orders — like  a  tall  young 
god  in  marble  come  to  life.  The  handsomest 
Marquess  in  Great  Britain,  and  in  France  like 
wise,  they  tell  me." 

"  The  handsomest  man,"  quoth  the  old  Dow 
ager  Lady  Storms,  who  had  a  country  seat  in  Ox 
fordshire  and  knew  more  of  the  tale  than  any  one 
else.  "The  handsomest  man, say  I, for  it  chanced 
that  I  drove  by  the  river  at  that  moment  and 
saw  him." 

And  then — freedom  of  speech  being  the  fashion 
S  65 


66        HIS   GRACE   OF  OSMONDE 

in  those  days  and  she  an  old  woman — she  painted 
such  a  picture  of  his  fine  looks,  his  broad  shoul 
ders,  and  the  markings  of  his  muscles  under  his 
polished  skin,  as,  being  repeated  and  spread 
abroad,  as  gossip  will  spread  itself,  fixed  him  in 
the  minds  of  admirers  of  manly  beauty  and  built 
him  a  reputation  in  the  world  of  fashion  before 
he  had  entered  it  or  even  left  his  books. 

When  he  did  leave  them  and  quitted  the  Uni 
versity,  it  was  with  honour  to  himself  and  family, 
and  also  with  joy  to  his  Governour  and  Chaplain 
Mr.  Fox,  who  had  attended  him.  At  his  coming 
of  age  there  were  feastings  and  bonfires  in  five  vil 
lages  again,  and  Rowe  rang  the  bells  at  Camy- 
lott  Church  with  an  exultant  ardour  which  came 
near  to  being  his  final  end,  and  though  seventy 
years  of  age,  he  would  give  up  his  post  to  no 
younger  man,  and  actually  blubbered  aloud  when 
'twas  delicately  suggested  that  his  middle- 
aged  son  should  take  his  place  to  save  him  fa- 
tigue. 

"  Nay  !  nay  !  "  he  cried  ;  "  I  rang  their  Graces' 
wedding  peal — I  rang  my  lord  Marquess  into  the 
world,  and  will  give  him  up  to  none  until  I  am  a 
dead  man." 

At  the  Tower  there  was  high  feasting,  the 
apartments  being  filled  with  guests  from  foreign 
Courts  as  well  as  from  the  English  one,  and  as  the 
young  hero  of  the  day  moved  among  them,  and 


HIS   GRACE  OF  OSMONDE        67 

among  the  tenantry  rejoicing  with  waving  flags 
and  rural  games  in  the  park,  as  he  danced  with 
lovely  ladies  in  the  ball-room,  and  as  he  made  his 
maiden  speech  to  the  people,  who  went  wild  with 
joy  over  him,  all  agreed  that  a  noble  house  hav 
ing  such  an  heir  need  not  fear  for  its  future  re 
nown,  howsoever  glorious  its  history  might  have 
been  in  the  past. 

After  he  had  been  presented  at  Court  there 
seemed  nothing  this  young  man  might  not  have 
asked  for  with  the  prospect  of  getting — a  place 
near  the  King,  a  regiment  to  lead  to  glory,  the 
hand  of  the  fairest  beauty  of  the  greatest  fortune 
and  rank.  But  it  seemed  that  he  wanted  noth 
ing,  for  he  made  no  request  for  any  favour  which 
might  have  brought  him  place  or  power  or  love. 
The  great  events  at  that  time  disturbing  the  na 
tion  he  observed  with  an  interest  grave  and 
thoughtful  beyond  his  years.  Men  who  were 
deep  in  the  problems  of  statesmanship  were 
amazed  to  discover  the  seriousness  of  his  views 
and  the  amount  of  reflection  he  had  given  to  pub 
lic  questions.  Beauties  who  paraded  themselves 
before  him  to  attract  his  heart  and  eye — even 
sweetly  tender  ones  who  blushed  when  he  ap 
proached  them  and  sighed  when  he  made  his 
obeisance  and  retired — all  were  treated  with  a 
like  courtesy  and  grace  of  manner,  but  he  gave 
none  more  reason  to  sigh  and  blush,  to  ogle  and 


68        HIS   GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

languish,  than  another,  the  honest  truth  being  that 
he  did  not  fall  in  love,  despite  his  youth  and  the 
warmth  of  his  nature,  not  having  yet  beheld  the 
beauty  who  could  blot  out  all  others  for  him  and 
reign  alone. 

"  I  will  not  play  with  love,"  he  said  to  his 
mother  once  as  they  talked  intimately  to  each 
other.  "  I  have  thought  of  it — that  which  should 
come  to  a  man  and  be  himself,  not  a  part  of  his 
being  but  the  very  life  of  him.  If  it  comes  not, 
a  man  must  go  unsatisfied  to  his  grave.  If  it 
comes —  You  know,"  he  said,  and  turned  and 
kissed  her  hand  impulsively,  "  It  came  to  my 
father  and  to  you." 

"  Pray  Heaven  it  may  come  to  you,  dear  one," 
she  said  ;  "  you  would  know  bliss  then." 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  I  should  know  rapture 
that  would  make  life  Heaven.  I  do  not  know 
what  it  is  I  wait  for — but  when  I  see  it  in  some 
woman's  eyes  I  shall  know,  and  so  will  she." 

His  mother  kissed  his  ringed  hair,  smiling 
softly. 

"  Till  then  you  wait  and  think  of  other  things." 

"  There  are  so  many  things  for  a  man  to  do," 
he  said, "  if  he  would  not  sit  idle.  But  when  that 
comes  it  will  be  first  and  greatest  of  all." 

At  this  period  all  the  world  talked  of  the  won 
drous  and  splendid  Churchill,  who,  having  fought 
brilliantly  for  the  Stuarts  and  been  made  by  them 


HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE        69 

first  Lord  Churchill  of  Eyernouth,  and  next 
Baron  Churchill  of  Sandridge,  having,  after  re 
ceiving  these  advancements,  the  cold  astuteness 
to  see  the  royal  fortunes  waver  perilously,  de 
serted  James  the  Second  with  stately  readiness 
and  transferred  his  services  to  William  of  Or 
ange.  He  was  rewarded  with  an  earldom  and 
such  favour  as  made  him  the  most  shining  figure 
both  at  the  Court  of  England  and  in  the  foreign 
countries  which  had  learned  to  regard  his  almost 
supernatural  powers  with  somewhat  approaching 
awe. 

This  man  inspired  Roxholm  with  a  singular 
feeling ;  he  in  fact  exercised  over  him  the  fasci 
nation  he  exercised  over  so  many  others,  but  in 
the  case  of  the  young  Marquess,  wonder  and  ad 
miration  were  mixed  with  other  emotions.  There 
were  stories  so  brilliant  to  be  heard  of  him  on  all 
sides,  stories  of  other  actions  so  marvellously 
ruthless  and  of  things  so  wondrously  mean.  Up 
on  a  bargain  so  shameless  he  had  built  so  won 
drous  a  career — a  faithfulness  of  service  so  magnifi 
cent  he  had  closed  with  a  treachery  so  base.  All 
greatness  and  all  littleness,  all  heroism  and  all 
crimes,  seemed  to  combine  themselves  in  this  one 
strange  being.  Having  shamelessly  sold  his  youth 
to  a  King's  mistress,  he  devoted  his  splendid  ma 
turity  to  a  tender,  faithful  passion  for  a  beauteous 
virago,  whose  displeasure  was  the  sole  thing  on 


70        HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

earth  which  moved  him  to  pain  or  fear.  In  truth 
'twas  not  his  genius,  his  bravery,  his  victories, 
which  held  Roxholm's  thought  upon  him  most 
constantly  ;  'twas  two  other  things,  the  first  being 
the  marvel  of  his  control  over  himself,  the  power 
with  which  he  held  in  subjection  his  passions,  his 
emotions,  almost,  it  seemed,  his  very  thoughts 
themselves — the  power  with  which  he  had  trained 
John  Churchill  to  be  John  Churchill's  servant — 
in  peril,  in  temptation  from  any  weakness  to  which 
he  did  not  choose  to  succumb,  in  circumstances 
which,  arising  without  warning,  might  have 
caused  another  man  to  start,  to  falter,  to  change 
colour,  but  which  he  encountered  with  indomi 
table  calm. 

"  'Tis  that  I  wish  to  learn,"  said  the  young 
nobleman  in  his  secret  thoughts  as  he  watched 
him  at  Court,  in  the  world  outside  it,  among 
soldiers,  statesmen,  women,  in  the  society  of  those 
greater  than  himself,  of  those  smaller,  of  those  he 
would  win  and  of  those  he  would  repel.  "'Tis 
that  I  would  learn :  to  be  stronger  than  my 
very  self,  so  that  naught  can  betray  me — no  pas 
sion  I  am  tormented  by,  no  anger  I  would  con 
ceal,  no  lure  I  would  resist.  'Tis  a  man's  self 
who  oftenest  entraps  him.  The  traitor  once  sub 
ject,  life  lies  at  one's  feet." 

The  second  thing  which  stirred  the  young  ob 
server's  interest  was  the  great  man's  great  love. 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE        71 

The  most  parsimonious  and  mercantile  of  beings, 
he  had  married  a  poor  beauty  when  fair  creatures 
with  fortunes  smiled  upon  him  on  every  side ;  the 
most  indomitable  of  spirits,  the  warrior  of  whom 
armies  stood  in  awe,  he  was  the  willing  subject  of 
a  woman  whose  fiery  temper  and  tempestuous 
spirit  the  world  knew  as  well  as  it  knew  her 
beauty  and  her  dominating  charm.  For  some 
reason  he  could  scarcely  have  analyzed,  it  gave 
Roxholm  a  strange  pleasure  to  hear  anecdotes  of 
the  passionate  love-letters  scrawled  on  the  field — 
on  the  eve  of  battle,  the  hour  after  a  great  en 
counter  and  triumph ;  to  know  that  better  than 
victory  to  the  great  conquerer,  who  could  com 
mand  the  slaughter  of  thousands  without  the 
quiver  of  a  muscle  or  a  moment's  qualm,  were 
the  few  lines  in  a  woman's  hand  which  told  him 
he  was  forgiven  for  some  fancied  wrong  or 
missed  in  some  tender  hour. 

"  My  Lady  Sarah  is  a  handsome  creature,  and 
ever  was  one,"  'twas  said,  "  but  there  are  those 
who  are  greater  beauties,  and  who  have  less  brim 
stone  in  the  air  about  them  and  less  lightning  in 
their  eyes." 

"  But  'twas  she  who  was  his  own,"  Roxholm 
said  to  himself  in  pondering  it  over,  "and  when 
their  eyes  met  each  knew — and  when  she  is  fierce 
and  torments  him  'tis  as  if  the  fire  in  his  own 
blood  spoke,  as  if  his  own  voice  reproached  him 


72        HIS  GRACE   OF  OSMONDE 

— and  he  remembers  their  dear  hours  together, 
and  forgives,  and  woos  her  back  to  him.  If  she 
were  not  his  own — if  he  were  not  hers,  neither 
could  endure  it.  They  would  strike  each  other 
dead.  'Tis  sure  nature  makes  one  man  for  one 
woman,  one  woman  for  one  man — as  it  was  in  the 
garden  where  our  first  parents  loved.  Few  creat 
ures  find  their  mates,  alas  ;  but  when  they  do  'tis 
Eden  over  again,  in  spite  of  all  things — and  all 
else  is  mean  and  incomplete. 

He  did  not  know  that,  as  he  had  observed  and 
been  attracted  by  the  hero,  so  the  hero  had  been 
attracted  by  himself,  though  'twas  in  a  lesser  de 
gree,  since  one  man  was  cold  and  mature  and  the 
other  young  and  warm. 

My  Lord  Churchill  had  been  the  most  beauti 
ful  youth  of  his  time,  distinguished  for  the  ele 
gance  of  his  bearing  and  the  perfection  of  his 
countenance  and  form.  When,  at  fifteen,  the  ser 
vices  of  his  father  in  the  royal  cause  had  procured 
for  him  the  place  of  page  in  the  household  of  the 
Duke  of  York,  he  had  borne  away  the  palm  from 
all  others  of  his  age.  When,  at  sixteen,  his  mar 
tial  instincts  had  led  to  the  Prince's  obtaining  for 
him  a  commission  in  a  regiment  of  the  guards, 
his  first  appearance  in  his  scarlet  and  gold  lace 
had  produced  such  commotion  among  the  court 
beauties  as  promised  to  lead  to  results  almost 
disastrous,  since  he  attracted  attention  in  places 


HIS   GRACE   OF  OSMONDE         73 

too  high  to  reach  with  safety.  But  even  then  his 
ambitions  were  stronger  than  his  temptations,  and 
he  fled  the  latter  to  go  to  fight  the  Moors.  On 
his  return,  more  beautiful  than  ever,  the  lustre  of 
success  in  arms  added  to  his  ripened  charms,  the 
handsomest  and  wickedest  woman  in  England 
cast  her  eyes  upon  him,  and  he  became  the  rival 
of  royalty  itself.  All  England  knew  the  story  of 
the  founding  of  his  later  fortunes,  but  if  he  him 
self  blushed  for  it,  none  but  John  Churchill  knew 
— outwardly  he  was  the  being  whose  name  was 
the  synonym  for  success,  the  lover  of  the  brilliant 
Castlemaine,  the  hero  of  the  auxiliary  force  sent 
to  Louis,  the  "handsome  Englishman"  of  the 
siege  of  Nimeguen  for  whom  Turenne  predicted 
the  greatest  future  a  man  could  dream  of. 

When  Roxholm  first  had  the  honour  of  being 
presented  to  this  gentleman  'twas  at  a  time  when, 
after  a  brief  period  during  which  the  hero's  fort 
unes  had  been  under  a  cloud,  the  tide  had  turned 
for  him  and  the  sun  of  royal  favour  shone  forth 
again.  Perhaps  during  certain  perilous  dark  days 
in  the  Tower,  my  Lord  Marlborough  had  passed 
through  hours  which  had  caused  him  to  look 
back  upon  the  past  with  some  regret  and  doubt 
ing,  and  when  among  those  who  crowded  about 
him  when  fortune  smiled  once  more — friends, 
sycophants,  place-hunters,  and  new  admirers — he 
beheld  a  figure  whose  youth  and  physical  gifts 


74        HIS  GRACE   OF  OSMONDE 

brought  back  old  memories  to  him,  'tis  possible 
they  awakened  in  him  curious  reflections. 

"  You,"  he  said  to  Roxholm  one  clay  at  St.  James, 
"  begin  the  game  with  all  the  cards  in  your 
hand." 

"  The  game,  my  Lord  ?  "  said  the  youthful  Mar 
quess,  bowing. 

"  The  game  of  life,"  returned  the  Earl  of  Marl- 
borough  (for  so  William  of  Orange  had  made  him 
nine  years  before),  and  his  eagle  eye  rested  on 
the  young  man  with  a  keen,  strange  look.  "  You 
need  not  plan  and  strive  for  rank  and  fortune. 
You  were  born  to  them — to  those  things  which 
will  aid  a  man  to  gain  what  he  desires,  if  he  is 
not  a  flippant  idler  and  has  brain  enough  to  cre 
ate  ambitions  for  him.  Most  men  must  spend 
their  youth  in  building  the  bridge  which  is  to 
carry  their  dreams  across  to  the  shore  which  is 
their  goal.  Your  bridge  was  built  before  you 
were  born.  You  left  Oxford  with  high  honours, 
they  tell  me  ;  you  are  not  long  of  age,  you  come 
of  a  heroic  race — what  do  you  think  to  do,  my 
Lord  ?  " 

Roxholm  met  his  scrutinizing  gaze  with  that 
steadiness  which  ever  marked  his  own.  He  knew 
that  he  reddened  a  little,  but  he  did  not  look 
away. 

"  I  am  young  to  know,  my  Lord  Maryborough," 
he  returned,  "  but  I  think  to  live — to  live." 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE        75 

His  Lordship  slightly  narrowed  his  eyes,  and 
nodded  his  head. 

"Ay,"  he  said,  "  you  will  live!" 

"  There  have  been  soldiers  of  our  house,"  said 
Roxholm.  "  I  may  fight  if  need  be,  perhaps,"  bow- 
ing,  "  following  your  Lordship  to  some  greater 
triumph,  if  I  have  that  fortune.  There  may  be 
services  to  the  country  at  home  I  may  be  deemed 
worthy  to  devote  my  powers  to  when  I  have  lived 
longer.  But,"  reddening  and  bowing  again,  "  be 
fore  men  of  achievement  and  renown,  I  am  yet  a 
boy." 

"  England  wants  such  boys,"  complimented  his 
Lordship,  gracefully.  "  The  Partition  Treaty  and 
the  needs  of  the  Great  Alliance  call  for  the  breed 
ing  of  them.  You  will  marry  ?  " 

"  My  house  is  an  old  one,"  replied  Roxholm, 
"and  if  I  live  I  shall  be  its  chief." 

My  Lord  cast  a  glance  about  the  apartment. 
It  was  a  gala  day  and  there  were  many  lovely 
creatures  near,  laughing,  conversing,  coquetting, 
bearing  themselves  with  dignity,  airiness,  or  sweet 
grace.  There  were  beauties  who  were  brown,  and 
beauties  who  were  fair  ;  there  were  gay  charmers 
and  grave  ones,  those  who  were  tall  and  com 
manding,  and  those  who  were  small  and  nymph- 
like. 

"  There  is  none  here  to  match  you,"  he  said 
with  an  imperturbable  gravity  ('twas  plain  he  was 


76        HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

not  trifling,  but  thinking-  some  serious  and  unusual 
thoughts).  "A  man  of  your  build  has  needs  out  of 
the  common.  No  pretty,  idle  young  thing  will 
do.  She  should  have  beauty,  and  that  which  is 
more.  'Tis  a  strange  kinship — marriage.  No  ; 
she  has  not  yet  come  to  court." 

"  I  will  wait  until  she  does,"  Roxholm  answered, 
and  his  youthful  face  was  as  grave  as  the  hero's 
own,  though  if  triflers  had  heard  their  words, 
they  would  have  taken  their  talk  for  idle  persi 
flage  and  jest. 


CHAPTER  Vll 

'"Tis  Flo  WUdairs,  Man— All  the  County  Knows  tbe 
Vixen. " 

A  MONTH  later  he  went  to  Warwickshire  at  my 
Lord  Dunstanwolde's  invitation.  In  that  part  of 
the  county  which  borders  upon  Gloucestershire 
was  his  Lordship's  seat,  which  was  known  as  Dun- 
stan's  Wolde.  'Twas  an  ancient  and  beautiful 
estate,  and  his  Lordship  spent  his  quiet  and  se 
cluded  life  upon  it,  much  beloved  by  his  tenantry, 
and  respected  by  his  neighbours.  Since  his  young 
wife's  death  his  manner  of  living  had  become 
more  secluded  year  after  year;  his  library,  his 
memories,  and  the  administration  of  his  estates 
filled  his  days  with  quiet  occupation. 

"  Perhaps  I  am  a  selfish  fellow  to  ask  a  young 
gentleman  who  is  a  favourite  at  Court  to  come 
and  bury  himself  with  me,"  he  said  to  Roxholm 
the  night  of  his  arrival,  "  but  you  and  I  have  spent 
many  a  good  quiet  hour  together,  Gerald,"  laying 
an  affectionate  hand  upon  his  broad  shoulder. 
"  And  if  you  were  my  son  you  would  come,  I 
know." 

"  Think  of  me  as  your  son,"  said  Roxholm  with 
his  fine  smile.  "  A  man  is  the  richer  for  the  love 
of  two  fathers." 

77 


78        HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

"  Oxford  has  not  changed  you,  Roxholm,"  said 
the  Earl.  "  Nor  have  the  Court  ladies'  flatteries 
spoiled  your  kindly  manners.  We  shall  be  happy 
together,  for  awhile  at  least." 

They  were  indeed  happy,  spending  their  days 
much  as  they  had  spent  them  at  Camylott — rid 
ing  together,  taking  long  sauntering  walks,  read 
ing  old  books  and  new  ones,  and  in  these  days 
conversing  on  maturer  subjects.  There  was  in 
deed  much  to  talk  of  at  this  closing  of  a  reign 
which  had  been  full  of  struggles  with  problems 
affecting  not  only  England  but  all  the  European 
powers.  What  the  Peace  of  Ryswick  had  effected, 
what  the  death  of  Charles  of  Spain  would  bring, 
whether  Louis  would  play  fairly,  how  long  King 
William's  broken  frame  would  last,  what  the 
power  of  the  Marlboroughs  would  be  when  the 
Princess  Anne  came  to  the  throne — all  these 
things  they  discussed  together,  and  in  their  argu 
ments  my  Lord  Dunstanwolde  was  often  roused 
to  the  wonder  other  ripe  minds  had  felt  in  com 
ing  in  contact  with  the  activity  and  daring  of  this 
younger  one. 

"  'Tis  not  possible  to  hide  a  handsome  young 
nobleman  under  a  bushel,"  the  Earl  said  after  but 
a  few  days  had  passed.  "  The  neighbours  will 
have  you  to  dine,  and  dance,  and  hunt  with  them, 
whether  it  is  your  will  or  not.  A  strapping 
young  fellow  must  do  his  duty  by  the  world," 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE        79 

Roxholm  performed  his  duty  with  propriety 
and  spirit  when  it  was  not  to  be  evaded  grace 
fully.  He  dined  with  country  gentlemen,  and 
listened  to  their  songs  and  stories  until  most  of 
them  drank  themselves  under  the  table,  as  was 
the  spirited  fashion  of  the  time.  He  answered  the 
questionings  of  their  wives  on  subjects  pertaining 
to  Court  fashions  and  behaviour  and, — perhaps 
somewhat  gravely, — danced  attendance  on  the 
daughters,  who  most  of  them,  it  is  true,  were  used 
to  less  courtly  manners  and  voted  him  in  private 
far  too  grave  and  majestic  for  such  a  beauty. 

"  He  hath  a  way  of  bowing  that  would  give  one 
a  fright,  were  his  eyes  not  so  handsome  and  his 
smile  so  sweet,"  said  one  lovely  ardent  hoyden. 
"  Lord  !  just  to  watch  him  standing  near  with  that 
noble  grave  look  on  his  face,  and  not  giving  one  a 
thought,  makes  one's  heart  go  pit-a-pat.  A  man 
hath  no  right  to  be  such  a  beauty — and  to  be  so, 
and  to  be  a  Duke's  son,  too,  is  a  burning  shame. 
'Tis  wicked  that  one  man  should  have  so  much  to 
give  to  one  woman." 

'Twas  but  a  week  before  Roxholm  left  his 
kinsman's  house,  that  they  spent  a  day  together 
hunting  with  a  noted  pack  over  the  borders  of 
Gloucestershire.  The  sport  was  in  a  neighbour 
hood  where  the  gentry  were  hunting-mad,  and 
chased  foxes  as  many  days  of  the  week  as  fort 
une  and  weather  favoured  them. 


8o        HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

"  Tis  a  rough  country,"  said  my  Lord  Dunstan- 
wolde,  as  they  rode  forth,  "and 'some  of  those 
who  hunt  are  wild  livers  and  no  credit  to  their 
rank,  but  there  is  fine  old  blood  among  them,  and 
some  of  the  hardest  riders  and  boldest  leapers 
England  knows."  Suddenly  he  seemed  to  re 
member  something  and  turned  with  an  exclama 
tion.  "  Upon  my  soul !  "  he  said,  "  till  this  mo 
ment  I  had  forgot.  I  am  too  sober  an  old  fogy  to 
hunt  with  them  when  I  have  no  young  blood  near 
to  spur  me.  Sir  Jeoffry  Wildairs  will  be  with 
them — if  he  has  not  yet  broke  his  neck." 

The  country  they  hunted  over  proved  indeed 
rough,  and  the  sport  exciting.  Roxholm  had 
never  seen  wilder  riding  and  more  daring  leaps, 
and  it  had  also  happened  that  he  had  not  yet  gone 
a-hunting  with  so  boisterous  and  rollicking  a  body 
of  gentlemen.  Their  knowledge  of  dogs,  foxes, 
and  horseflesh  was  plainly  absolute,  but  they  had 
no  Court  manners,  being  of  that  clan  of  country 
gentry  of  which  London  saw  but  little.  Nearly 
all  the  sportsmen  were  big  men  and  fine  ones, 
with  dare-devil  bearing,  loud  voices,  and  a  ten 
dency  to  loose  and  profane  language.  They 
roared  friendly  oaths  at  each  other,  had  brandy 
flasks  on  their  persons  on  which  they  pulled  freely, 
and,  their  spirits  being  heightened  thereby,  ex 
changed  jokes  and  allusions  not  too  seemly. 

Before  the  fox  was  found,  Roxholm  had  marked 


HIS   GRACE  OF  OSMONDE        81 

this  and  observed  also  that  half  a  dozen  more  of 
the  best  mounted  men  were  the  roughest  on  the 
field,  being  no  young  scapegraces  and  frolickers, 
but  men  past  forty,  who  wore  the  aspect  of  rep 
robate  livers  and  hard  drinkers,  and  who  were 
plainly  boon  companions  and  more  intimate  with 
each  other  than  with  those  not  of  their  party. 

They  seemed  to  form  a  band  of  themselves, 
which  those  not  of  it  had  an  air  of  avoiding,  and 
'twas  to  be  seen  that  their  company  was  looked  at 
askance,  and  that  in  the  bearing  of  each  member 
of  the  group  there  was  a  defiance  of  the  general 
opinion.  Roxholm  sat  on  his  horse  somewhat 
apart  from  this  group  watching  it,  his  kinsman 
and  a  certain  Lord  Twemlow,  who  was  their  host 
for  the  day,  conversing  near  him. 

My  Lord  Twemlow,  who  took  no  note  of  them, 
but  by  the  involuntary  casting  on  them  of  an  oc 
casional  glance,  when  some  wild  outburst  attracted 
his  attention,  wore  a  grave  and  almost  affronted 
look. 

"  'Tis  the  Wildairs  cronies,"  Roxholm  heard 
him  say  to  his  Lordship  of  Dunstanwolde.  "  I 
hunt  but  seldom,  purely  through  disgust  of  their 
unseemliness." 

"  Wildairs!"  exclaimed  my  Lord  Dunstan 
wolde. 

"  Ay,"  answered  Twemlow,  turning  his  horse 
slightly  and  averting  his  eyes ;  "  and  there  cometh 


82        MIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

my  reputable  kinsman,  Sir  Jeoffry,  even  as  we 
speak." 

Roxholm  turned  to  look  with  some  stir  of  feel 
ing  in  his  breast,  since  this  was  the  man  who  had 
so  early  roused  in  him  an  emotion  of  anger  and 
rebellion.  Across  the  field  came  pounding  a  great 
black  horse,  a  fine  big-boned  brute ;  on  him  rode 
a  tall,  heavy  man  who  must  once  have  been  of  the 
handsomest,  since  even  yet,  in  spite  of  years, 
bloated  face,  and  careless  attire,  he  retained  a 
sort  of  dissolute  beauty.  He  was  of  huge  frame 
and  had  black  eyes,  a  red  mouth,  and  wore  his 
own  thick  and  curling  though  grizzled  black 
hair. 

He  rode  with  a  dare-devil  grace,  and  his  cro 
nies  greeted  him  with  a  shout. 

"  He  has  the  look  of  it,"  thought  Roxholm,  re 
membering  the  old  stories ;  but  the  next  instant 
he  gave  a  start.  Across  the  field  beyond,  another 
rider  followed  galloping,  and  at  this  moment  came 
over  the  high  hedge  like  a  swallow,  and,  making 
the  leap,  gave  forth  a  laughing  shout.  Roxholm 
sat  and  stared  at  the  creature.  'Twas  indeed  a 
youthful  figure,  brilliant  and  curious  to  behold 
in  this  field  of  slovenly  clad  sportsmen.  'Twas  a 
boy  of  twelve  or  thereabouts  riding  a  splendid 
young  devil  of  a  hunter,  with  a  skin  like  black 
satin  and  a  lovely,  dangerous  eye.  The  lad  was  in 
scarlet,  and  no  youngster  of  the  Court  was  more 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE         83 

finely  clad  or  fitted,  and  not  one  had  Roxholm 
ever  set  eyes  upon  whose  youthful  body  and 
limbs  were  as  splendid  in  line  and  symmetry ;  in 
truth,  the  beauty  and  fire  of  him  were  things  to 
make  a  man  lose  his  breath.  He  rode  as  if  he  had 
been  born  upon  his  horse's  back  and  had  never  sat 
elsewhere  from  his  first  hour,  his  flowing  black 
hair  was  almost  too  rich  and  long  for  a  boy,  he 
had  a  haughty  mouth  for  a  child,  though  it  was  a 
crimson  bow  and  pouting,  his  complexion  matched 
it,  and  his  black  eyes,  which  were  extraordinary 
big  and  flashing,  had  the  devil  in  them. 

"  Pardi!  "  the  young  Marquess  cried  between 
his  teeth.  "  What  does  such  a  young  one  in  such 
company  ?  "  Never  had  he  beheld  a  thing  which 
moved  him  with  such  strange  suddenness  of  emo 
tion.  He  could  not  have  explained  the  reason  of 
his  feeling,  which  was  an  actual  excitement,  and 
caused  him  to  turn  in  his  saddle  to  watch  the 
boy's  every  movement  as  he  galloped  forward  to 
join  the  reprobate  group. 

As  they  had  greeted  Sir  Jeoffry  with  a  shout  of 
welcome,  so  they  greeted  the  young  newcomer, 
but  in  his  reception  there  was  more  enthusiasm 
and  laughter,  as  if  there  were  some  special  cause 
for  gayety  in  the  mere  sight  of  him. 

When  he  drew  up  in  their  midst  their  voices 
broke  forth  into  a  tumult  of  noisy,  frolicsome 
greeting,  to  which  the  lad  gave  back  impudent, 


84        HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

laughing  answer.  In  a  moment's  time  he  was  the 
centre  figure  of  interest  among  them,  and  seemed 
to  dominate  them  all  as  if  he  had  been  some 
young  potentate  instead  of  a  mere  handsome  lad 
of  twelve. 

"  If  they  were  a  band  of  barbarians  and  he  their 
boy  chief  they  could  pay  him  no  more  court  nor 
joy  in  him  more,"  Roxholm  reflected.  "  Is  it  his 
beauty  or — what  means  it?" 

He  could  not  withdraw  his  eyes  from  the  boy, 
who  sat  his  fretting  hunter  among  them,  some 
times  scarcely  able  to  restrain  the  animal's  fiery 
temper  or  keep  him  from  lashing  out  his  heels  or 
biting  at  the  beasts  nearest  to  him.  Now  he  trot 
ted  from  one  man  to  the  other  as  the  group  scat 
tered  somewhat ;  now  he  sat  half  turned  back,  his 
hand  on  his  steed's  hind  quarters,  flinging  words 
and  laughter  to  the  outside  man. 

"  Thou'lt  have  to  use  scissors  again  on  thy  peri 
wig,  ecod  ! "  one  man  cried,  banteringly. 

"Damme,  yes,"  the  youngster  rapped  out,  and 
he  caught  a  rich  lock  of  his  hair  and  drew  it  for 
ward  to  look  at  it,  frowning.  "  What's  a  man  to 
do  when  his  hair  grows  like  a  girl's  ?  " 

The  answer  was  greeted  with  a  shout  of  laugh 
ter,  and  the  boy  burst  forth  with  a  laugh  like 
wise,  showing  two  rows  of  ivory  teeth.  Some 
how  there  was  an  imperial  deviltry  about  him, 
an  impudent  wild  spirit  which  had  plainly  made 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE        85 

him  conqueror,  favourite,  and  plaything  of  the 
whole  disreputable  crew. 

Men  were  not  fastidious  talkers  in  those  times  ; 
the  cleanest  mouthed  of  them  giving  themselves 
plenty  of  license  when  they  were  in  spirits.  Rox- 
holm  had  heard  broad  talk  enough  at  the  Uni 
versity,  where  the  young  gentlemen  indulged  in 
conversation  no  more  restrained  than  was  that 
of  their  elders  and  betters;  he  had  heard  the 
jokes  and  profanity  of  both  camp  and  Court  since 
he  had  left  Oxford,  and  had  learned  that  squeam- 
ishness  was  far  from  being  the  fashion.  But 
never  had  he  heard  such  oath-sprinkled  talk  or 
such  open  obscenity  of  joking  as  fell  upon  his  ears 
this  morning  in  but  a  brief  space.  Hearing  it  in 
spite  of  himself,  his  blood  grew  hot  and  his  horse 
began  to  paw  the  earth,  he,  in  his  irritation,  hav 
ing  unknowingly  fretted  its  mouth.  And  then 
one  of  the  company,  an  elderly  sportsman  with  a 
watery  eye,  began  a  story. 

"  Good  God  !  "  Roxholm  broke  forth  to  the  man 
nearest  to  him,  one  not  of  the  party,  but  evidently 
one  who  found  it  diverting;  "good  God!  Can 
they  not  restrain  themselves  before  a  child  ?  Let 
them  be  decent  for  his  mere  youth's  sake  !  The 
lad  is  not  thirteen." 

The  man  started  and  stared  at  him  a  moment 
with  open  mouth,  and  then  burst  into  a  loud  guf 
faw  of  laughter. 


86        HIS   GRACE   OF  OSMONDE 

"  The  lad  ! "  he  cried,  roaring  and  slapping  his 
thigh  in  his  mirth.  "  'Tis  no  lad.  Didst  take  it 
for  one  ?  Lord !  'tis  Jeoff  Wildair's  youngest 
wench.  Tis  Clo — 'tis  Clo,  man.  All  the  county 
knows  the  vixen  ! " 

And  at  that  very  instant  the  hounds  sprang 
forth,  giving  tongue,  and  the  field  sprang  for 
ward  with  them,  and  all  was  wild  excitement : 
cries  of  "Tally  ho!"  ringing,  horses  plunging, 
red  coats  seeming  to  fly  through  the  air ;  and  my 
lord  Marquess  went  with  the  field,  his  cheek  hot, 
his  heart  Suddenly  thumping  in  his  breast  with 
a  sense  of  he  knew  not  what,  as  his  eye,  follow 
ing  a  slender,  scarlet-coated  figure,  saw  it  lift  its 
horse  for  a  huge  leap  over  a  five-barred  gate,  take 
it  like  a  bird,  and  lead  the  whole  scurrying,  gal 
loping  multitude. 

"  Yes,"  said  my  Lord  Dunstanwolde,  as  they 
rode  homeward  slowly  in  the  evening  gray,  "  'tis 
the  girl  infant  who  was  found  struggling  and 
shrieking  beneath  the  dead  body  of  her  mother, 
and  till  to-day  I  never  saw  her.  "  Good  Heavens ! 
the  beauty  of  the  creature — the  childish  deviltry 
and  fire!" 

Each  turned  and  looked  into  the  eyes  of  the 
other  with  a  question  in  his  thought,  and  each 
man's  was  the  same,  though  one  had  lived  beyond 
sixty  years  and  one  but  twenty-four.  A  female 


HIS   GRACE  OF   OSMONDE        87 

creature  of  such  beauty,  of  such  temper,  bred  in 
such  manner,  among  such  companions,  by  such 
parents — what  fate  could  be  before  her?  Rox- 
holm  averted  his  eyes. 

"Tossed  to  the  wolves,"  he  said;  "  tossed  to 
the  pack — to  harry  and  to  slaver  over!  God's 
mercy ! " 

As  they  rode  he  heard  the  story,  Lord  Twem- 
low  having  related  such  incidents  as  he  naturally 
knew  to  my  Lord  Dunstanwolde.  'Twas  a  bit 
ter  history  to  Twemlow,  whose  kinsman  the  late 
Lady  Wildairs  had  been,  and  who  was  a  discreet 
ly  sober  and  God-fearing  gentleman,  to  whom  ir 
regular  habits  and  the  reckless  squandering  of 
fortune  were  loathly  things.  And  this  was  the 
substance  of  the  relation,  which  was  so  far  out  of 
the  common  as  to  be  almost  monstrous  :  His  dis 
gust  at  the  birth  of  this  ninth  girl  infant  had  so 
inflamed  Sir  Jeoffry  that  he  had  refused  even  to 
behold  it  and  had  left  it  to  its  fate  as  if  it  had 
been  an  ill-made,  blind  puppy.  But  two  of  her 
Ladyship's  other  children  had  survived  their  in 
fancy,  and  of  these  two  their  father  knew  nothing 
whatever  but  that  they  had  been  called  Barbara 
and  Anne,  that  they  showed  no  promise  of  beau 
ty,  and  lived  their  bare  little  lives  in  the  Hall's 
otherwise  deserted  west  wing,  having  as  their 
sole  companion  and  instructress  a  certain  Mis 
tress  Margery  Wimpole — a  timorous  poor  rela- 


88        HIS   GRACE   OF  OSMONDE 

tion,  who  had  taken  the  position  in  the  wretched 
household  to  save  herself  from  starvation,  and  be 
cause  she  was  fitted  for  no  other ;  her  education 
being  so  poor  and  her  understanding  so  limited, 
that  no  reputable  or  careful  family  would  have 
accepted  her  as  governess  or  companion.  Her 
two  poor  little  charges  learned  the  few  things 
she  could  teach  them,  and  their  meek  spiritedness 
gave  her  but  little  trouble.  Their  dead  mother's 
suffering  and  their  father's  rough  contempt  on 
the  rare  occasions  when  he  had  chanced  to  behold 
them  had  chastened  them  to  humbleness  from 
their  babyhood.  There  was  none  who  wanted 
them,  none  who  served  or  noticed  them,  and 
there  was  no  circumstance  which  could  not  re 
strain  them,  no  person  who  was  not  their  ruler 
if  'twas  his  will. 

"  But  the  ninth  one  was  not  like  them,"  said 
my  Lord.  "  The  blood  of  the  fierce  devils  who 
were  the  chiefs  of  her  house  centuries  ago  woke 
in  her  veins  at  her  birth.  'Tis  strange  indeed, 
Gerald,  how  such  things  break  forth — or  slumber 
— in  a  race.  Should  you  trace  Wildairs,  as  you 
trace  Mertoun  through  the  past,  her  nature 
would  be  made  clear  enough.  They  have  been 
splendid  devils,  some  of  them  —  devils  who 
fought,  shrieking  with  ferocious  laughter  in  the 
face  of  certain  horrible  death ;  devils  whose 
spirit  no  torture  of  rack  or  flame  could  conquer ; 


HIS  GRACE   OF   OSMONDE        89 

beings  who  could  endure  in  silence  horrors  al 
most  supernatural ;  who  could  bear  more,  revel 
more,  suffer  more,  defy  more  than  any  other  hu 
man  thing." 

"  And  this  child  is  one  of  them !  "  said  Rox- 
holra. 

He  said  but  little  as  they  rode  onward  and 
he  listened.  There  was  within  him  a  certain  dis 
taste  for  what  seemed  to  him  the  unnatural  tu 
mult  of  his  feelings.  A  girl  child  of  twelve  rol 
licking  in  boys'  clothes  was  not  a  pleasing  pict 
ure,  but  in  one  sense  a  tragic  one,  and  certainly 
not  such  as  should  set  a  man's  heart  beating  and 
his  cheek  to  flame  when  he  heard  stories  of  her 
fantastic  life  and  character.  On  this  occasion  he 
did  not  understand  himself;  if  he  had  been  a 
sanctimonious  youngster  he  would  have  reproved 
his  own  seeming  levity,  but  he  was  not  so,  and 
frankly  felt  himself  restless  and  ill  at  ease. 

The  name  given  to  her  had  been  Clorinda,  and 
from  her  babyhood  she  had  been  as  tempest 
uous  as  her  sisters  were  mild.  None  could  man 
age  her.  Her  baby  training  left  wholly  to  neg 
lected  and  loose-living  servants,  she  had  spent  her 
first  years  in  kitchens,  garrets,  and  stables.  The 
stables  and  the  stable-boys,  the  kennels  and  their 
keepers,  were  loved  better  than  aught  else.  She 
learned  to  lisp  the  language  of  grooms'  and  help 
ers,  she  cursed  and  swore  as  they  did,  she  heard 


90        HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

their  songs  and  stories,  and  was  as  familiar  with 
profanity  and  obscene  language  as  other  children 
are  with  nursery  rhymes.  Until  she  was  five  years 
old  Sir  Jeoffry  never  set  eyes  upon  her.  Then 
a  strange  chance  threw  her  in  his  way  and  sealed 
her  fate. 

Straying  through  the  house,  having  escaped 
from  her  woman,  the  child  had  reached  the  big 
hall,  and  sate  upon  the  floor  playing  with  a  pow 
der-flask  she  had  found.  'Twas  Sir  Jeoffry's, 
and  he,  coming  upon  her,  not  knowing  her  for  his 
own  offspring  (not  that  such  a  knowledge  would 
have  calmed  his  passion),  he  sprang  upon  her 
with  curses  and  soundly  trounced  her.  Either  of 
her  sisters  Anne  or  Barbara  would  have  been 
convulsed  with  terror,  but  this  one  was  only 
roused  to  a  fury  as  much  greater  for  her  size 
than  Sir  Jeoffry  was  bigger  than  herself.  She 
flew  at  him  and  poured  forth  oaths,  she  shrieked 
at  him  and  beat  his  legs  with  his  own  crop,  which 
she  caught  up  from  the  floor  where  it  lay  within 
reach,  she  tore  at  him  with  tooth  and  nail,  and 
with  such  strength  and  infant  fearlessness  as  ar 
rested  him  in  his  frenzy  and  caused  him  to  burst 
forth  laughing  as  if  he  had  gone  mad. 

"  From  that  hour  she  was  a  doomed  creature," 
my  Lord  ended.  "  What  else  can  a  man  call  the 
poor  beauteous,  helpless  thing.  She  is  his  com 
panion  and  playmate,  and  the  toy  and  jest  of  his 


HIS   GRACE   OF  OSMONDE        91 

comrades.  It  is  the  scandal  of  the  county.  At 
twelve  she  is  as  near  a  woman  as  other  girls  of 
fourteen.  At  fifteen—!"  and  he  stopped  speak- 
ing. 

"  'Twould  have  been  safer  for  her  to  have  died 
beneath  her  dead  mother's  body,"  said  Roxholm, 
almost  fiercely. 

"  Yes,  safer  !  "  said  his  Lordship.  "  Yet  what  a 
woman  ! — What  a  woman  !  "—and  here  he  broke 
off  speech  again. 


CHAPTER  VIU 
In  wlnclj  my  Lady  Betty  Tantillion  writes  of  a  Scandal 

SCARCE  two  years  later,  King  William  riding 
in  the  park  at  Hampton  Court  was  thrown  from 
his  horse — the  animal  stumbling  over  a  mole-hill 
— and  his  collar-bone  broken.  A  mole-hill  seems 
but  a  small  heap  of  earth  to  send  a  King  to  moul 
der  beneath  a  heap  of  earth  himself,  but  the  fall 
proved  fatal  to  a  system  which  had  long  been 
weakening,  and  a  few  days  later  his  Majesty  died, 
commending  my  Lord  Marl  borough  to  the  Prin 
cess  Anne  as  the  guide  and  counsellor  on  whose 
wisdom  and  power  she  might  most  safely  rely. 
Three  days  after  the  accession  his  Lordship  was 
made  Captain-General  of  the  English  army,  and 
intrusted  with  power  over  all  warlike  matters 
both  at  home  and  abroad.  'Twas  a  moment  of 
tremendous  import — the  Alliance  shaken  by  King 
William's  death,  Holland  panic-stricken  lest  Eng 
land  should  withdraw  her  protection,  King  Louis 
boasting  that  "  henceforth  there  were  no  Pyre 
nees,"  Whigs  and  Tories  uncertain  whether  or 
not  to  sheath  weapons  in  England,  small  sover 
eigns  and  great  ones  ready  to  spring  at  each 

92 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE        93 

other's  throats  on  the  Continent.  Boldness  was  de 
manded,  and  such  executive  ability  as  only  a  brill 
iantly  daring  mind  could  supply.  Without  hes 
itation  all  power  was  given  into  the  hands  of  the 
man  who  seemed  able  to  command  the  Fates 
themselves.  My  Lord  Maryborough  could  soothe 
the  fretted  vanity  of  a  petty  German  Prince,  he 
could  confront  with  composure  the  stupid  ran 
cour  of  those  who  could  not  comprehend  him,  in 
the  most  wooden  of  heavy  Dutchmen  he  could 
awaken  a  slow  understanding,  the  most  testy  royal 
temper  he  knew  how  to  appease,  and,  through  all, 
wear  an  air  of  dignity  and  grace,  sometimes  even 
of  sweetness. 

"  What  matter  the  means  if  a  man  gains  his 
end,"  he  said.  "  He  can  afford  to  appear  worsted 
and  poor  spirited,  if  through  all  he  sees  that  which 
he  aims  at  placing  itself  within  his  reach." 

"  The  King  of  Prussia,"  said  Dunstanwolde  as 
they  talked  of  the  hero  once,  "  has  given  more 
trouble  than  any  of  the  allies.  He  is  ever  ready  to 
contest  a  point,  or  to  imagine  some  slight  to  his 
dignity  and  rank.  It  has  been  almost  impossible 
to  manage  him.  How  think  you  my  Lord  Marl- 
borough  won  him  over?  By  doing  that  which  no 
other  man — diplomat  or  soldier — would  have  had 
the  wit  to  see  the  implied  flattery  of,  or  the  compos 
ure  to  perform  without  loss  of  dignity.  At  a  state 
banquet  his  testy  Majesty  dropped  his  napkin  and 


94        HIS  GRACE   OF  OSMONDE 

required  another.  No  attendant  was  immediately 
at  hand.  My  Lord  Marlborough — the  most  talked 
of  man  in  Europe,  and  some  say,  at  this  juncture, 
as  powerful  as  half  a  dozen  Kings — rose  and  hand 
ed  his  Majesty  the  piece  of  linen  as  simply  as  if 
it  were  but  becoming  that  he  should  serve  as 
lackey  a  royalty  so  important — and  with  such  re 
pose  of  natural  dignity  that  'twas  he  who  seemed 
majestic,  and  not  the  man  he  waited  on.  Since 
then  all  goes  with  comparative  smoothness.  If  a 
Queen's  favoured  counsellor  and  greatest  general 
so  serves  him,  the  little  potentate  feels  his  impor 
tance  properly  valued." 

"  But  if  one  who  knows  his  Lordship  had  looked 
straight  in  his  eyes,"  said  Roxholm,  "  he  could 
have  seen  the  irony  within  them — held  like  a  spark 
of  light.  I  have  seen  it." 

When  my  Lord  Marlborough  went  to  the  Hague 
to  take  command  of  the  Dutch  and  English  forces, 
and  to  draw  the  German  power  within  the  con 
federacy,  he  took  with  him  more  than  one  young 
officer  notable  for  his  rank  and  brilliant  place  in 
the  world,  it  having  become  at  this  period  the 
fashion  to  go  to  the  wars  in  the  hope  that  a  young 
Marlborough  might  lurk  beneath  any  smart  bro 
cade  and  pair  of  fine  shoulders.  Among  others, 
his  Lordship  was  attended  on  his  triumphal  way 
by  the  already  much  remarked  young  Marquess 
gf  Roxholm,  and  it  was  realized  that  thivS  fortu- 


HIS   GRACE  OF   OSMONDE        95 

nate  young  man  went  not  quite  as  others  did,  but 
as  one  on  whom  the  chief  had  fixed  his  attention, 
and  for  whom  he  had  a  liking. 

In  truth,  he  had  marked  in  him  certain  powers 
and  qualities,  which  were  both  agreeable  to  his 
tastes  and  promised  usefulness.  He  had  not  em 
ployed  his  own  powers  and  charms,  physical  and 
mental,  from  his  fifteenth  year  upward,  without 
having  learned  the  actual  weight  and  measure  of 
their  potency,  as  a  man  knows  the  weight  and 
size  of  a  thing  he  can  put  into  scales  and  measure 
with  a  yardstick.  He  remembered  well  hours, 
when  the  fact  that  he  was  of  a  beauteous  shape 
and  height,  and  gazed  at  others  with  a  superb  ap 
pealing  eye,  had  made  that  difference  which  lies 
between  failure  and  success  ;  he  had  never  forgot 
one  of  the  occasions  upon  which  the  power  of 
keeping  silence  under  provocation  or  temptation, 
the  ability  to  control  each  feature  and  compel  it 
to  calm  sweetness,  had  served  him  as  well  as  a 
regiment  of  soldiers  might  have  served  him. 
Each  such  experience  he  had  retained  mentally 
for  future  reference.  Roxholm  possessed  this 
power  to  restrain  himself,  and  to  keep  silent,  re 
flecting,  and  judging  meanwhile,  and  was  taller 
than  he,  of  greater  grace,  and  unconscious  state 
of  bearing  ;  his  beauty  of  countenance  had  but  in 
creased  as  he  grew  to  manhood. 

"  I  was  the  handsomest  lad  at  Court  in  the  year 


96        HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

'65,"  his  Grace  of  Maryborough  .said  once  (he 
had  been  made  Duke  by  this  time).  "  The  year 
you  were  born  I  was  the  handsomest  man  in  the 
army,  they  used  to  say — but  I  was  no  such  beauty 
and  giant  as  you,  Marquess.  The  gods  were  en 
veine  when  they  planned  you." 

"  When  I  was  younger,"  said  Roxholm,  "it  an 
gered  me  to  hear  my  looks  praised  so  much  ;  I 
was  boy  enough  to  feel  I  must  be  unmanly.  But 
now — 'tis  but  as  it  should  be,  that  a  man  should 
have  straight  limbs  and  a  great  body,  and  a  clean- 
cut  countenance.  It  should  be  nature — not  a 
thing  to  be  remarked ;  it  should  be  mere  nature 
— and  the  other  an  unnatural  thing.  'Tis  cruel 
that  either  man  or  woman  should  be  weak  or  un 
comely.  All  should  be  as  perfect  parts  of  the 
great  universe  as  are  the  mountains  and  the  sun." 

"  'Tis  not  so  yet,"  remarked  my  Lord  Marlbor- 
ough,  with  his  inscrutable  smile.  "  'Tis  not  so 
yet." 

"  Not  yet,"  said  Roxholm.  "  But  let  each  creat 
ure  live  to  make  it  so — men  that  they  may  be 
clean  and  joyous  and  strong ;  women  that  they 
may  be  mates  for  them.  They  should  be  as  strong 
as  we,  and  have  as  great  courage." 

His  Lordship  smiled  again.  They  were  at  the 
Hague  at  this  time  and  in  his  quarters,  where  he 
was  pleased  occasionally  to  receive  the  young 
officer  with  a  gracious  familiarity.  For  reasons 


HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE        97 

of  his  own,  he  wished  to  know  him  well  and  un 
derstand  the  strengths  and  weaknesses  of  his 
character.  Therefore  he  led  him  into  talk,  and 
was  pleased  to  find  that  he  frequently  said  things 
worth  hearing,  though  they  were  often  new  and 
somewhat  daring  things  to  be  said  by  one  of  his 
age  at  this  period,  when  'twas  not  the  custom  for 
a  man  to  think  for  himself,  but  either  to  follow 
the  licentious  follies  of  his  fellows  or  accept  with 
out  question  such  statements  as  his  Chaplain  made 
concerning  a  somewhat  unreasoning  Deity,  His 
inflexible  laws,  and  man's  duty  towards  Him. 
That  a  handsome  youth,  for  example,  should,  in  a 
serious  voice  and  with  a  thoughtful  face,  announce 
that  beauty  should  be  but  nature,  and  ugliness  re 
garded  as  a  disease,  instead  of  humbly  submitted 
to  as  the  will  of  God,  was,  indeed,  a  startling  her 
esy  and  might  have  been  regarded  as  impious, 
even  though  so  gravely  said.  Therefore  it  was 
my  Lord  Maryborough  smiled. 

"  I  spoke  to  you  of  marriage  once  before/'  he 
remarked.  "  You  bring  it  back  to  me.  Do  you 
care  for  women  ?"  bluntly. 

Roxholm  met  his  eye  with  his  own  straight, 
cool  gaze. 

"  Yes,  my  Lord,"  he  answered  with  some  grim- 
ness,  and  said  no  more. 

"  The  one  you  wait  for  has  not  yet  come  to 
Court,  as  I  said  that  day,"  his  Lordship  went  on, 
7 


98        HIS  GRACE   OF  OSMONDE 

and  now  he  was  grave  again,  and  had  even  fallen 
into  a  speculative  tone.  "  But  it  struck  me  once 
that  I  heard  of  her — though  she  is  no  fit  compan 
ion  for  you  yet — and  Heaven  knows  if  she  ever 
will  be.  The  path  before  her  is  too  full  of  traps 
for  safety." 

Roxholm  did  not  speak.  Whether  fond  of 
women  or  not,  he  was  not  given  to  talking  of 
them,  and  a  certain  reserve  would  have  prevented 
his  entering  upon  any  discussion  of  the  future 
Lady  Roxholm,  whomsoever  she  might  in  the 
future  prove  to  be.  He  stood  in  an  easy  attitude, 
watching  with  some  vague  curiosity  the  expres 
sion  of  his  chief's  countenance.  But  suddenly  he 
found  himself  checking  a  slight  start,  and  this  was 
occasioned  by  his  Lordship's  next  words. 

"  In  the  future  I  shall  take  pains  to  hear  what 
befalls  her,"  the  Duke  said.  "  In  two  or  three 
years'  time  we  shall  hear  somewhat.  She  will 
marry  a  duke — be  a  King's  mistress,  or  go  to  ruin 
in  some  less  splendid  and  more  tragic  way.  No 
woman  is  born  into  the  world  with  such  beauty  as 
they  say  is  hers,  and  such  wild  fire  in  her  veins, 
without  setting  the  world — or  herself — in  flames. 
A  new  Helen  of  Troy  she  may  be,  and  yet  she  is 
but  the  ninth  daughter  of  a  drunken  Gloucester 
shire  baronet." 

'Twas  here  that  Roxholm  found  himself  check 
ing  his  start,  but  he  had  not  checked  it  soon 


HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE        99 

enough  to  escape  the  observance  of  the  quickest 
sighted  man  in  Europe. 

"  What!  "  he  said,  " you  have  heard  of  her?" 

"  I  have  seen  her,  my  Lord,"  Roxholm  answered, 
"on  the  hunting  field  in  Gloucestershire." 

"  Is  she  so  splendid  a  young  creature  as  they 
say?  Was  she  in  boys'  attire,  as  we  hear  her 
rascal  father  lets  her  ride  with  him  ?  " 

"  I  thought  her  a  boy,  and  had  never  seen  one 
like  her,"  said  Roxholm,  and  he  was  amazed  to 
feel  himself  disturbed  as  if  he  spoke  not  of  a  child, 
but  of  a  beauty  of  ripe  years. 

"  Is  she  of  such  height  and  strength  and  won 
drous  development  as  rumour  tells  us  ?  "  his  Lord 
ship  continued,  still  observing  him  as  if  with 
interest.  "  At  twelve  years  old,  'tis  told,  she  is 
tall  enough  for  eighteen,  and  can  fence  and  leap 
hedges  and  break  horses,  and  that  she  plays 
the  tyrant  over  men  four  times  her  age." 

"  I  saw  her  but  once,  my  Lord,"  replied  Rox 
holm.  "  She  was  tall  and  strong  and  handsome." 

"  Go  and  see  her  again,  my  lord  Marquess," 
said  the  Captain-General,  turning  to  his  papers. 
"  But  do  not  wait  too  long.  Such  beauties  must 
be  caught  early." 

When  he  went  back  to  his  quarters,  my  lord 
Marquess  strolled  through  the  quaint  streets  of 
the  town  slowly,  and  looking  upon  the  ground  as 
he  walked.  For  some  reason  he  felt  vaguely  de- 


ioo      HIS  GRACE   OF  OSMONDE 

pressed,  and,  searching  within  himself  for  a 
reason,  recognised  that  the  slight  cloud  resting 
upon  his  spirits  recalled  to  him  a  feeling  of  his 
early  childhood — no  other  than  the  sense  of  rest 
less  unhappiness  he  had  felt  years  ago  when  he 
had  first  overheard  the  story  of  the  wretched 
Lady  of  Wildairs  and  her  neglected  children. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  'tis  almost  the  same  feeling, 
though  then  I  was  a  child,  and  now  I  am  a  man. 
When  I  saw  the  girl  at  the  hunt,  and  rode  home 
afterwards  with  Dunstanwolde,  listening  to  her 
story,  there  was  gloom  in  the  air.  There  is  that 
in  it  to  make  a  man's  spirit  heavy.  I  must  not 
think  of  her." 

But  Fate  herself  was  against  him.  For  one 
thing,  my  Lord  Marl  borough  had  brought  back 
to  him,  with  a  few  words,  with  strange  vividness 
the  picture  of  the  brilliant  young  figure  in  its 
hunting  scarlet,  its  gallop  across  the  field  with 
head  held  high,  its  flying  leap  over  the  hedge, 
and  the  gay  insolence  and  music  of  its  laugh. 

"  A  child  could  not  have  made  a  man  so  remem 
ber  her,"  he  said,  impatiently.  "  She  was  half 
woman  then — half  lovely,  youthful  devil.  There 
is  an  ill  savour  about  it  all." 

When  he  entered  his  rooms  he  found  guests 
waiting  him.  A  pleasure-loving  young  ensign, 
whom  he  had  known  at  Oxford,  and  two  of  the 
lad's  cronies.  They  were  a  trio  of  young  scape- 


HIS   GRACE  OF  OSMONDE       101 

graces,  delighted  with  any  prospect  of  adventure, 
and  regarding  their  martial,  <&&£$  chiefly  as  op 
portunities  to  shine  in  laced  coats  and  cocked 
hats,  and  swagger  with  a  warlike  air  and  a  mili 
tary  ogle  when  they  passed  a  pretty  woman  in 
the  street.  It  was  the  pretty  woman  these  young 
English  soldiers  had  come  to  do  battle  with,  and 
hoped  to  take  captive  with  flying  colours  and 
flourish  of  trumpets. 

They  were  in  the  midst  of  great  laughter  when 
Roxholm  entered,  and  young  Tantillion,  the  en 
sign,  sprang  up  to  meet  him  in  the  midst  of  a  gay 
roar.  The  lad  had  been  one  of  his  worshippers 
at  the  University,  and  loved  him  fondly,  coming 
to  him  with  all  sorts  of  confidences,  to  pour  forth 
his  love  difficulties,  to  grumble  at  his  military 
duties  when  they  interfered  with  his  pleasures, 
to  borrow  money  from  him  to  pay  his  gaming 
debts. 

"  He  has  been  with  my  Lord  Marlborough,"  he 
cried ;  "  I  know  he  has  by  his  sober  countenance ! 
We  are  ready  to  cheer  thee  up,  Roxholm,  with 
the  jolliest  story.  'Tis  of  the  new  beauty,  who  is 
but  twelve  years  old  and  has  set  half  the  world 
talking." 

"  Mistress  Clorinda  Wildairs  of  Wildairs  Hall 
in  Gloucestershire,"  put  in  Bob  Langford,  one  of 
the  cronies,  a  black-eyed  lad  of  twenty.  "  Per 
haps  your  Lordship  has  heard  of  her,  since  she  is 


1Q2       HIS   GRACE   OF  OSMONDE 

59  much  gossiped  of-~Mistress  Clorinda  Wildairs, 
who  has  been,  brought  up  half  boy  by  her  father 
and  his  cronies,  and  is  already  the  strappingest 
beauty  in  England." 

"  He  is  too  great  a  gentleman  to  have  heard  of 
such  an  ill-mannered  young  hoyden,"  said  Tantil- 
lion,  "but  we  will  tell  him.  'Twas  my  sister 
Betty's  letter — writ  from  Warwickshire — set  us 
on,"  and  he  pulled  forth  a  scrawled  girlish-look 
ing  epistle  from  his  pocket  and  spread  it  on  the 
table.  "  Shalt  hear  it,  Roxholm  ?  Bet  is  a  minx, 
and  'tis  plain  she  is  green  with  jealousy  of  the 
other  girl — but  'tis  the  best  joke  I  have  heard  for 
many  a  day." 

And  forthwith  Roxholm  must  sit  down  and  hear 
the  letter  read  and  listen  to  their  comments  there 
upon,  and  their  shouts  of  boyish  laughter. 

Little  Lady  Betty  Tantillion,  who  was  an  embryo 
coquette  of  thirteen,  had  been  to  visit  her  relations 
in  Warwickshire,  and  during  her  stay  among 
them  had  found  the  chief  topic  of  conversation  a 
certain  mad  creature  over  the  borders  of  Glouces 
tershire — a  Mistress  Clorinda  Wildairs,  who  was 
the  scandal  of  the  county,  and  plainly  the  delight 
of  all  the  tongue-waggers. 

"  And  oh,  Tom,  she  is  a  grate  thing,  almost  as 
tall  as  a  woman  though  she  is  but  twelve  years  of 
age,"  wrote  her  young  Ladyship,  whose  spelling, 
by  the  way,  was  by  no  means  as  correct  as  her 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      103 

sense  of  the  proprieties.  "  Her  father,  Sir  Jeoffry, 
allows  her  to  ride  in  boys'  clothes,  which  is  inde 
cent  for  a  young  lady  even  at  her  time  of  life. 
Brother  Tom,  how  would  you  like  to  see  your 
sister  Betty  astride  a  hunter,  in  breeches?  Lady 
Maddon  (she  is  the  slender,  graceful  buty  who 
is  called  the  *  Willow  Wand  '  by  the  gentlemen 
who  are  her  servants) — she  saith  that  this  girl  is  a 
coarse  thing  and  has  so  little  modisty  that  she  is 
proud  to  show  her  legs,  thinking  men  will  admire 
them,  but  she  is  mistaken,  for  gentlemen  like  a 
modist  woman  who  is  slight  and  delicate.  She 
(Mistress  Clo — as  they  call  her)  has  big,  bold, 
black  eyes  and  holds  her  chin  in  the  air  and  her 
mouth  looks  as  red  as  if  'twere  painted  every  hour. 
Every  genteel  woman  speaks  ill  of  her  and  is 
ashamed  of  her  bold  ways.  And  she  is  not  even 
handsome,  Tom,  for  all  their  talk,  for  I  have  seen 
her  myself  and  think  nothing  of  her  looks.  Her 
breeding  is  said  to  be  shameful  and  her  langwidge 
a  disgrace  to  her  seeks.  The  gentlemen  are  al 
ways  telling  tales  of  her  ways,  and  they  laugh  and 
make  such  a  noise  when  they  talk  about  her  over 
their  wine.  At  our  Aunt  Flixton's  one  day,  my 
cousin  Gill  and  me  stood  behind  a  tree  to  hear 
what  was  being  said  by  some  men  who  were  tell 
ing  stories  of  her  (which  was  no  wrong  because 
we  wished  to  learn  a  lesson  so  that  we  might  not 
behave  like  her).  Some  of  their  words  we  did  not 


104      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

understand,  but  some  we  did  and  'twas  of  a  Chap 
lain  (they  called  him  a  fat-chopped  hipercrit)  who 
went  to  counsel  her  to  behay  ve  more  decent,  and 
she  no  doubt  was  impudent  and  tried  to  pleas 
him,  for  he  forgot  his  cloth  and  put  his  arms  sud 
den  about  her.  and  kist  her.  And  the  men  roared 
shameful,  for  the  one  who  told  it  said  she  knocked 
him  down  on  his  knees  and  held  him  there  with 
one  hand  on  his  shoulder  while  she  boxed  his 
face  from  side  to  side  till  his  nose  bled  in  streams, 
and  cried  she  (Oh,  Tom  !)  '  Damn  thy  fat  head,' 
each  time  she  struck  him  '  if  that  is  thy  way  to 
convert  women,  this  is  my  way  to  convert  men.' 
And  he  could  scarce  crawl  away  weeping,  his 
blood  and  tears  streeming  down  his  face,  which 
shows  she  hath  not  a  reverence  even  for  the  cloth 
itself.  Dere  brother  Thomas,  if  you  should  meet 
her  in  England  when  you  come  back  from  the 
wars,  and  she  is  a  woman,  I  do  pray  you  will  not 
be  like  the  other  gentlemen  and  be  so  silly  as  to 
praise  her,  for  such  creatures  should  not  be  en- 
corragd." 

Throughout  the  reading  of  the  letter  uproar 
ious  shouts  of  laughter  had  burst  forth  at  almost 
every  sentence,  and  when  he  had  finished  the 
epistle,  little  Tantillion  fell  forward,  his  face  on  his 
arms  on  the  table,  his  mirth  almost  choking  him, 
while  the  others  leaned  back  and  roared.  'Twas 
only  Roxholm  who  was  not  overcome,  the  story 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE       105 

not  seeming  so  comical  to  him  as  to  the  others, 
and  yet  there  were  points  at  which  he  himself 
could  not  help  but  laugh. 

" '  Damn  thy  fat  head,' "  shrieked  Tom  Tantil- 
lion,  "  '  If  that  is  thy  way  to  convert  women,  this 
is  mine  to  convert  men.'  Oh,  Lord  !  I  think  I  see 
the  parson  ! " 

"  With  his  fat,  slapped  face  and  his  streaming 
eyes  and  bloody  nose!"  shouted  Langford. 

"  Serve  him  damn  right!"  said  Tantillion,  so 
bering  and  wiping  his  own  eyes.  "  To  put  their 
heads  into  such  hornets'  nests  would  make  a  lot 
of  them  behave  more  decent."  And  then  he 
picked  up  the  letter  again  and  made  brotherly 
comments  upon  it. 

"  'Tis  just  like  a  minx  of  a  girl  to  think  a  man 
cannot  see  through  her  spite,  '  he  said.  "  Bet  is 
dying  to  be  a  woman  and  have  the  fellows  ogling 
her.  She  is  a  pretty  chit  and  will  be  the  languish 
ing  kind,  like  the  die-away  Maddon  who  is  so 
'  modist.'  She  is  thin  enough  to  be  made  '  modist ' 
by  it.  No  breeches  for  her,  but  farthingales  and 
*  modesty  pieces'  high  enough  to  graze  her  chin. 
'  Some  of  their  words  we  did  not  understand  '" — 
reading  from  the  letter,  and  he  looked  at  the  com 
pany  with  a  large  comprehensive  wink.  "  '  Her 
breeding  is  disgraceful  and  her  langwidge  a  dis 
grace  to  her  seeks' — Well,  I'll  be  hanged  if  she 
isn't  a  girl  after  a  man's  own  heart,  if  she's  hand- 


106       HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

some  enough  to  dress  like  a  lad,  and  has. the  spirit 
to  ride  and  leap  like  one — and  can  slap  a  Chap 
lain's  face  for  him  when  he  plays  the  impudent 
goat.  Aren't  you  of  my  opinion,  Roxholm,  for  all 
you  don't  laugh  as  loud  as  the  rest  of  us?  Aren't 
you  of  my  mind  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Roxholm,  who  for  a  few  moments 
had  been  gazing  at  the  wall  with  a  somewhat 
fierce  expression. 

"  Hello!"  exclaimed  Tantillion,  not  knowing 
the  meaning  of  it.  u  What  are  you  thinking  of  ?  " 

Roxholm  recovered  himself,  but  his  smile  was 
rather  a  grim  one. 

"  I  think  of  the  Chaplain,"  he  said,  "  and  how  I 
should  like  to  have  dealt  with  him  myself — after 
young  Mistress  Wildairs  let  him  go." 


CHAPTER  IX 
Sir  John  Oxon  Lays  a  Wager  at  Cribb's  Coffee  House. 

THIS  is  to  be  no  story  of  wars  and  battles,  of 
victories  and  historic  events,  such  great  engines 
being  but  touched  upon  respectfully,  as  their  times 
and  results  formed  part  of  the  atmosphere  of  the 
life  of  a  gentleman  of  rank  who  moved  in  the  world 
affected  by  them,  and  among  such  personages  as 
were  most  involved  in  the  stirring  incidents  of 
their  day.  That  which  is  to  be  told  is  but  the 
story  of  a  man's  life  and  the  love  which  was  the 
greatest  power  in  it — the  thing  which  brought  to 
him  the  fiercest  struggles,  the  keenest  torture,  and 
the  most  perfect  joy. 

During  the  next  two  years  Gerald  Mertoun  saw 
some  pretty  service  and  much  change  of  scene, 
making  the  "  grand  tour,"  as  it  were,  under  cir 
cumstances  more  exciting  and  of  more  moment 
to  the  world  at  large  than  is  usually  the  case  when 
a  gentleman  makes  it.  He  so  acquitted  himself 
on  several  occasions  that  England  heard  of  him 
and  prophesied  that  if  my  Lord  Marlborough's 
head  were  taken  off  in  action  there  was  a  younger 
hero  who  might  fill  his  place.  At  the  news  of 
each  battle,  whether  it  ended  in  victory  or  not, 

107 


io8      HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

old  Rowe  rang-  the  bells  at  Camylott,. rejoicing 
that  even  if  the  enemy  was  not  routed  with  great 
slaughter,  my  lord  Marquess  was  still  alive  to 
fight  another  day.  At  Blenheim  he  so  bore  him 
self  that  the  Duke  talked  long  and  gravely  with 
him  in  private,  laying  before  him  all  the  triumphs 
a  career  of  arms  would  bring  to  him. 

"Twenty  years  hence,  Roxholm,"  he  said, 
watching  him  with  his  keen  glance  as  he  ever 
did,  "  you  might  take  my  place,  had  England  such 
questions  to  settle  as  she  has  to-day.  In  twenty 
years  I  shall  be  seventy-four.  You  were  ham 
mered  from  the  metal  nature  cast  me  in,  and  you 
could  take  any  man's  place  if  'twas  your  will.  I 
could  have  taken  any  man's  place  I  had  chosen  to 
take,  by  God,  and  so  can  you.  If  a  man's  brain 
and  body  are  built  in  a  certain  way  he  can  be 
soldier,  bishop,  physician,  financier,  statesman, 
King  ;  and  he  will  have  like  power  in  whatsoever 
he  chooses  to  be,  or  Fate  chooses  that  he  shall 
be.  As  statesman,  King,  or  soldier,  the  world  will 
think  him  greatest  because  such  things  glitter  in 
the  eye  and  make  more  sound ;  but  the  strong 
man  will  be  strong  if  Fortune  makes  him  a  huck 
ster,  and  none  can  hide  him.  If  Louis  XV.  is  as 
great  a  schemer  as  the  fourteenth  Louis  has  been, 
you  may  lead  armies  if  you  choose  ;  but  you  will 
not  choose,  I  think.  You  do  not  love  it,  Rox 
holm — you  do  not  love  it." 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE       109 

"  No,"  answered  Roxholm ;  "  I  do  not  love  it.  I 
can  fight — any  man  can  fight  who  has  not  white 
blood — and  ours  has  been  a  fighting  house  ;  but 
mowing  men  down  by  thousands,  cutting  their 
throats,  burning  towns,  and  desolating  villages 
filled  with  maddened  men  and  shrieking  women 
and  children,  does  not  set  my  blood  in  a  flame  as 
it  does  the  blood  of  a  man  who  is  born  for  victo 
rious  slaughter.  I  loathe  so  the  slaughter  that  I 
hate  the  victory.  No  ;  there  are  other  things  I 
can  do  better  for  England,  and  be  happier  in  do 
ing  them." 

"  I  have  known  that,"  said  the  Captain-General, 
"  even  when  I  have  seen  you  sweep  by,  followed 
by  your  men,  at  your  most  splendid  moment.  I 
have  known  it  most  when  we  have  sate  together 
and  talked — as  'tis  not  my  way  to  talk  to  much 
older  men." 

They  had  so  talked  together,  and  upon  matters 
much  more  important  than  the  world  knew.  His 
Grace  of  Marlborough's  years  had  been  given  to 
other  things  than  letters.  He  could  win  a  great 
victory  with  far  greater  ease  than  he  could  pen 
the  dispatch  announcing  it  when  'twas  gained. 
"  Of  all  things,"  he  once  said  to  his  Duchess,  "  I 
do  not  love  writing."  He  possessed  the  faculty 
of  using  all  men  and  things  that  came  into  his 
way,  and  there  were  times  when  he  found  of 
value  the  services  of  a  young  nobleman  whose 


no      HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

education  and  abilities  were  of  the  highest,  and 
who  felt  deeply  honoured  by  his  unusual  confi 
dence,  and  was  also  silent  and  discreet  both 
through  taste  and  by  nature.  Older  men  were 
oftenest  privately  envious  and  ambitious;  and  a 
man  who  has  desires  for  place  and  power  is  not 
to  be  trusted  by  one  who  has  gained  the  highest 
and  is  attacked  by  jealousy  on  all  sides.  This 
man  was  rich,  of  high  rank,  and  desired  nothing 
his  Grace  wished  to  retain  ;  besides  this,  his  nat 
ure  was  large  and  so  ruled  by  high  honour  that 
'twas  not  in  him  to  scheme  or  parley  with  schem 
ers.  So  it  befel  that,  despite  his  youth,  he  en 
joyed  the  privilege  of  being  treated  as  if  his  years 
had  been  as  ripe  as  his  intellect.  He  knew  and 
learned  many  things.  Less  was  hid  from  him 
than  from  any  other  man  in  the  army,  had  the 
truth  been  known.  When  'twas  a  burning  neces 
sity  for  the  great  man  to  cross  to  England  to  per 
suade  her  Majesty  to  change  her  ministers,  Rox- 
holtn  knew  the  processes  by  which  the  end  was 
reached.  He  had  knowledge  of  all  the  feverish 
fits  through  which  political  England  passed,  in 
greater  measure  than  he  himself  was  conscious  of. 
His  reflections  upon  the  affairs  of  Portugal  and 
their  management,  his  belief  in  the  importance  of 
the  Emperor's  reconciliation  with  the  Protestants 
of  Hungary,  and  of  many  a  serious  matter,  were 
taken  into  consideration  and  pondered  over  when 


HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE       111 

he  knew  it  not.  In  hastening  across  the  Channel 
to  the  English  Court,  in  journeying  to  Berlin  to  en 
counter  great  personages,  in  hearing  of  and  behold 
ing  intrigue,  triumphs,  disappointments,  pomps, 
and  vanities,  he  studied  in  the  best  possible  school 
the  art  and  science  of  statesmanship,  and  won  for 
himself  a  place  in  men's  minds  and  memories. 

When,  after  Blenheim,  he  returned  to  England 
with  a  slight  wound,  his  appearance  at  Court  was 
regarded  as  an  event  of  public  interest,  and  com 
mented  upon  with  flowery  rhetoric  in  the  jour 
nals.  The  ladies  vowed  he  had  actually  grown 
taller  than  before,  that  his  deep  eyes  had  a  power 
no  woman  could  resist,  and  that  there  was  indeed 
no  gentleman  in  England  to  compare  with  him 
either  for  intellect,  beauty,  or  breeding.  Her 
Majesty  showed  him  a  particular  favour,  and  it 
was  rumoured  that  she  had  remarked  that,  had  one 
of  her  many  dead  infants  lived  and  grown  to  such 
a  manhood,  she  would  have  been  a  happy  woman. 
Duchess  Sarah  melted  to  him  as  none  had  ever 
seen  her  melt  to  man  before.  She  had  heard  many 
stories  of  him  from  her  lord,  and  was  prepared  to 
be  gracious,  but  when  she  beheld  him,  she  was 
won  by  another  reason,  for  he  brought  back  to 
her  the  day  when  she  had  been  haughty,  penni 
less  Sarah  Jennings,  and  the  man  who  seemed  to 
her  almost  godlike  in  his  youth  and  beauty  had 
knelt  at  her  feet. 


112      HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

'Twas  most  natural  that  at  this  time  there 
should  be  much  speculation  as  to  the  beauty  who 
might  be  chosen  as  his  partner  in  life  by  a  young 
nobleman  of  such  fortune,  a  young  hero  held  in 
such  esteem  by  his  country  as  well  as  by  the 
world  of  fashion.  Conversation  was  all  the  more 
rife  upon  the  subject  because  his  Lordship  paid 
no  special  court  to  any  and  seemed  a  heart-free 
man. 

Many  suitable  young  ladies  were  indeed  picked 
out  for  him,  some  by  their  own  friends  and  fam 
ilies,  some — who  had  not  convenient  relatives  to 
act  for  them — by  themselves,  and  each  was  deli 
cately  or  with  matter-of-fact  openness  presented 
to  his  notice.  There  were  brilliant  Court  beauties 
— lovely  country  virgins  of  rank  and  fortune — 
charming  female  wits,  and  fair  and  bold  ma 
rauders  who  would  carry  on  a  siege  with  skill 
and  daring;  but  the  party  attacked  seemed  not  so 
much  obdurate  as  unconscious,  and  neither  suc 
cumbed  nor  ran  away.  When  the  lovely  Lady 
Helen  Loftus  fell  into  a  decline  and  perished  a 
victim  to  it  at  the  very  opening  of  her  eighteenth 
year,  there  was  a  whisper  among  certain  gossip 
ing  elderly  matrons,  which  hinted  that  only  after 
her  acquaintance  with  the  splendid  young  Mar 
quess  had  she  begun  to  look  frail  and  large-eyed, 
and  gradually  fallen  into  decay. 

"  Never  shall  I  forget,"  said  old  Lady  Storms, 


HIS   GRACE  OF  OSMONDE       113 

"  seeing  the  pretty  thing1  look  after  him  when  he 
bowed  and  left  her  after  they  had  danced  a  minuet 
together.  Her  look  set  me  to  watching  her,  and  she 
gazed  on  him  through  every  dance  with  her  large 
heaven-blue  eyes,  and  when  at  last  she  saw  him 
turn  and  come  towards  her  again  her  breast  went 
up  and  down  and  her  breath  fluttered,  and  she 
turned  from  white  to  red  and  from  red  to  white 
with  joy.  'Tis  not  his  fault,  poor  young  man, 
that  women  will  set  their  hearts  on  him ;  'tis  but 
nature.  I  should  do  it  myself  if  I  were  not  sev 
enty-five  and  a  hooked-nosed  pock-marked  creat 
ure.  Upon  my  life,  it  is  not  quite  a  fair  thing  that 
a  man  with  all  things  which  all  women  must  want, 
should  be  sent  forth  among  us.  Usually  when  a 
man  hath  good  looks  he  hath  bad  manners  or 
poor  wit  or  mean  birth,  or  a  black  soul  like  the 
new  man  beauty,  Sir  John  Oxon,  whom  a  woman 
must  hate  before  she  hath  loved  him  three  months. 
But  this  one— good  Lord !  And  with  the  best 
will  in  life,  he  cannot  take  all  of  us." 

The  new  man  beauty,  Sir  John  Oxon,  was  in 
deed  much  talked  of  at  this  time.  Having  lived  a 
mad  rake's  life  at  the  University,  and  there  gained 
a  reputation  which  had  made  him  the  fashionable 
leader  of  the  wickedest  youths  of  their  time,  he 
had  fallen  heir  to  his  fortune  and  title  just  as  he 
left  Cambridge  and  was  prepared  to  launch  him 
self  into  town  life.  He  had  appeared  in  the  world 


114      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

preceded  by  stories  of  successful  intrigues,  dar 
ing  indeed  when  connected  with  the  name  of  a 
mere  youth  ;  but  as  he  was  beautiful  to  behold, 
and  had  gayety  and  grace  and  a  daring  wit,  such 
rumours  but  fixed  public  attention  upon  him  and 
made  him  the  topic  of  the  hour.  He  was  not  of 
the  build  or  stateliness  of  Lord  Roxholm,  and  much 
younger,  but  was  as  much  older  than  his  years  in 
sin  as  the  other  was  in  unusual  acquirement.  He 
was  a  slender  and  exquisitely  built  youth,  with 
perfect  features,  melting  blue  eyes,  and  rich  fair 
hair  which,  being  so  beautiful,  he  disdained  to 
conceal  with  any  periwig,  however  elaborate  and 
fashionable.  When  Roxholm  returned  to  Eng 
land,  this  male  beauty  star  \vas  in  the  ascendant. 
All  the  town  talked  of  him,  his  dress,  his  high 
play,  the  various  :ntrigues  he  was  engaged  in 
and  was  not  reluctant  that  the  world  of  fashion 
should  hear  of.  The  party  of  young  gentlemen 
who  had  been  led  by  him  at  the  University  took 
him  for  their  model  in  town,  so  that  there  were  a 
set  of  beaux  whose  brocaded  coats,  lace  steen- 
kirks,  sword-knots,  and  carriage  were  as  like  Sir 
John's  as  their  periwigs  were  like  his  fair  locks, 
they  having  been  built  as  similar  as  possible  by 
their  peruquiers.  His  coach  and  four  were  the 
finest  upon  the  road,  his  chair  and  chariot,  in  the 
town  ;  he  had  fought  a  duel  about  a  woman,  and 
there  were  those  who  more  than  suspected  that 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE       115 

the  wildest  band  of  Mohocks  who  played  pranks 
at  night  was  formed  of  half  a  dozen  pretty  fellows 
who  were  known  as  the  "Jack  Oxonites." 

He  was  not  a  young  man  whose  acquirements 
were  to  be  praised  or  emulated,  but  there  were 
pretty  women  who  flattered  him  and  men  of 
fashion  who  found  pleasure  in  his  society,  for  a 
time  at  least,  and  many  a  strange  scandal  con 
nected  itself  with  his  name. 

He  sang,  he  told  wicked  stories,  he  gambled, 
and  at  certain  coffee-houses  shone  with  resplen 
dent  light  as  a  successful  beau  and  conqueror. 

'Twas  at  a  club  that  Roxholm  first  beheld  him. 
He  had  heard  him  spoken  of  but  had  not  seen 
him,  and  going  into  the  coffee-room  one  evening 
with  a  friend,  a  Captain  Warbcck,  found  there  a 
noisy  party  of  beaux,  all  richly  dressed,  all  full  of 
wine,  and  all  seeming  to  be  the  guests  of  a  hand 
some  fellow  more  elegantly  attired  and  wearing  a 
more  dashing  air  than  any  of  them.  He  was  in 
blue  and  silver  and  had  fair  golden  love-locks 
which  fell  in  rich  profusion  on  his  shoulders. 

He  stood  up  among  the  company  leaning  against 
the  table,  taking  snuff  from  a  jewelled  gold  snuff 
box  with  an  insolent,  laughing  grace. 

"A  quaint  jacle  she  must  be,  damme,"  he  said. 
"  I  have  heard  of  her  these  three  years,  and  she  is 
not  yet  fifteen.  Never  were  told  me  such  stories 
of  a  young  thing's  beauty  since  I  was  man-born. 


ii6      HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

Eyes  like  stars,  flaming  and  black  as  jet,  a  carriage 
like  a  Juno,  a  shape — good  Lord  !  like  all  the  god 
desses  a  man  has  heard  of — and  hair  which  is  like 
a  mantle  and  sweeps  upon  the  ground.  In  less 
than  a  year's  time  I  will  go  to  Gloucestershire 
and  bring  back  a  lock  of  it — for  a  trophy."  And 
he  looked  about  him  mockingly,  as  if  in  triumph. 

"  She  will  clout  thee  blind,  Jack,  as  she  clouted 
the  Chaplain,"  cried  one  of  the  company.  "  No 
man  that  lives  can  tame  her.  She  is  the  fiercest 
shrew  in  England,  as  she  is  the  greatest  beauty." 

"  She  will  thrash  thee,  Jack,  as  she  thrashed 
her  own  father  with  his  hunting  crop  when  she 
was  but  five  years  old,"  another  cried. 

The  beau  in  blue  and  silver  flicked  the  grains 
of  snuff  lightly  from  the  lace  of  his  steenkirk  with 
a  white  jewelled  hand  and  smiled,  slowly  nod 
ding  his  fair  curled  head. 

"  I  know  all  that,"  he  said.  "  Every  story  have 
I  heard,  and,  egad !  they  but  fire  my  blood.  She 
is  high  mettled,  but  I  have  dealt  with  termagants 
before — and  brought  them  down,  by  God  ! — and 
brought  them  down  !  There  is  a  way  to  tame  a 
woman — and  I  know  it.  Begin  with  a  light  soft 
hand  and  a  melting  eye — all's  fair  in  love  ;  and 
the  spoils  are  to  the  victor.  When  I  come  back 
from  Gloucestershire  with  my  lock  of  raven  hair" 
— he  lifted  a  goblet  of  wine  and  tossed  it  off  at 
a  draught — "  I  shall  leave  her  as  such  beauties 


HIS  GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      117 

should  be  left — on  her  knees.'*  And  his  laugh  rang 
forth  like  a  chime  of  silver.  Roxholm  sprang  up 
with  a  smothered  oath. 

"  Come !  "  he  said  to  Warbeck.  "  Come  away, 
in  God's  name." 

Warbeck  had  been  his  fellow-soldier  abroad 
and  knew  well  the  dangerous  spirit  which  hid  it 
self  beneath  his  calm.  He  had  seen  him  roused 
to  fury  once  before  ('twas  when  in  Flanders  after 
a  skirmish  he  found  some  drunken  soldiers  strip 
ping  a  poor  struggling  peasant  woman  of  her 
garments,  while  her  husband  shrieked  curses  at 
them  from  the  tree  where  he  was  tied) — and 
on  that  occasion  he  had  told  himself  'twould  be 
safer  to  trifle  with  a  mine  of  powder  than  with 
this  man's  anger.  He  rose  hurriedly  and  followed 
him  outside.  In  the  street  he  could  scarce  keep 
pace  with  his  great  stride,  and  the  curses  that 
broke  from  him  brought  back  hot  days  of  battle. 

"  I  would  not  enter  into  a  pot-house  brawl  with 
a  braggart  boy,"  he  cried.  "  The  blackguard, 
dastard  knave  !  Drag  me  away,  Hal,  lest  I  rush 
back  like  a  fool  and  run  him  through !  I  have 
lost  my  wits.  'Tis  the  fashion  for  dandies  to  pour 
forth  their  bestial  braggings,  but  never  hath  a  man 
made  my  blood  so  boil  and  me  so  mad  to  strike 
him." 

"'Tis  not  like  thee  so  to  lose  thy  wits,  Rox 
holm,"  Warbeck  said,  his  hand  on  his  arm,  "  but 


ii8      HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

thou  hast  lost  them  this  once  surely.  'Tis  no  work 
for  the  sword  of  a  gentleman  pinking  foul- 
mouthed  boasters  in  a  coffee-house.  Know  you 
who  he  is?" 

"  Damnation,  No  !  "  thundered  Roxholm,  strid 
ing  on  more  fiercely  still. 

"'Tis  the  new  dandy,  Sir  John  Oxon,"  said  War- 
beck.  "  And  the  beauty  he  makes  his  boast  on  is 
the  Gloucestershire  Wildairs  handsome  madcap 
— the  one  they  call  Mistress  Clo." 


CHAPTER  X 
My  Lord  Marquess  rides  to  Camylott. 

WHEN  he  went  home  my  lord  sate  late  over  his 
books  before  he  went  to  his  chamber,  yet  he  read 
but  little,  finding  his  mood  disturbed  by  thoughts 
which  passed  through  it  in  his  despite.  His  blood 
had  grown  hot  at  the  coffee-house,  and  though 
'twas  by  no  means  the  first  time  it  had  heated 
when  he  heard  the  heartless  and  coarse  talk  of 
woman  which  it  was  the  habit  of  most  men  of 
the  day  to  indulge  in,  he  realised  that  it  had 
never  so  boiled  as  when  he  listened  to  the  brutal 
and  significant  swagger  of  Sir  John  Oxon.  His 
youth  and  beauty  and  cruel,  confident  air  had 
made  it  seem  devilish  in  its  suggestion  of  what 
his  past  almost  boyish  years  might  have  held  of 
pitiless  pleasures  and  pitiless  indifference  to  the 
consequences,  which,  while  they  were  added  tri 
umphs  to  him,  were  ruin  and  despair  to  their  vic 
tims. 

"  The  laugh  in  his  blue  eye  was  damnable," 
Roxholm  murmured.  "  'Twas  as  if  there  was  no 
help  for  her  or  any  other  poor  creature  whom  he 
chose  to  pursue.  The  base  unfairness  of  it !  He 
is  equipped  with  the  whole  armament — of  lures, 

119 


120       HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

of  lies,  of  knowledge,  and  devilish  skill.  There 
are  women,  'tis  true,  who  are  his  equals  ;  but 
those  who  are  not — those  who  are  ignorant  and 
whose  hearts  he  wins,  as  'twould  be  easy  for  him 
to  win  any  woman's  who  believed  his  wooing  face 
and  voice — Nay,  'twould  be  as  dastardly  as  if  an 
impregnable  fortress  should  open  all  its  batteries 
upon  a  little  child  who  played  before  it.  And 
he  stands  laughing  among  his  mocking  crew — 
triumphing,  boasting — in  cold  blood — of  what  he 
plans  to  do  months  to  come.  Fate  grant  he  may 
not  come  near  me  often.  Some  day  I  should 
break  his  devil's  neck." 

He  found  himself  striding  about  the  room. 
He  was  burning  with  rage  against  the  unfairness 
of  it  all,  as  he  had  burned  when,  a  mere  child,  he 
pondered  on  the  story  of  Wildairs.  To-day  he 
was  a  man,  yet  his  passion  of  rebellion  was  curi 
ously  similar  in  its  nature  to  his  young  fury. 
Now,  as  then,  there  was  naught  to  be  done  to 
help  what  seemed  like  Fate.  In  a  world  made 
up  of  men  all  more  or  less  hunters  of  the  weak, 
ready  to  accept  the  theory  that  all  things  defence 
less  and  lovely  are  fair  game  for  the  stronger,  a 
man  whose  view  was  fairer  was  an  abnormality. 

"  I  do  not  belong  to  my  time,"  he  said,  flinging 
himself  into  his  chair  again  and  speaking  grimly. 
"  I  am  too  early — or  too  late — for  it,  and  must  be 
content  to  seem  a  fool," 


HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE       121 

"  There  is  a  Fate,"  he  said  a  little  later,  having 
sat  a  space  gazing  at  the  floor  and  deep  in 
thought — "  there  is  a  Fate  which  seems  to  link 
me  to  the  fortunes  of  these  people.  My  first 
knowledge  of  their  wretchedness  was  a  thing 
which  sank  deep.  There  are  things  a  human 
being  perhaps  remembers  his  whole  life  through 
— and  strangely  enough  they  are  often  small  inci 
dents.  I  do  not  think  there  will  ever  pass  from 
me  my  memory  of  the  way  the  rain  swept  over 
the  park  lands  and  bare  trees  the  day  I  stood 
with  my  Lord  Dunstanwolde  at  the  Long  Gallery 
window,  and  he  told  me  of  the  new-born  child 
dragged  shrieking  from  beneath  its  dead  mother's 
body/' 

Some  days  later  he  went  to  Camylott  to  pass  a 
few  weeks  in  the  country  with  his  parents,  who 
were  about  to  set  forth  upon  a  journey  to  Italy, 
where  they  were  to  visit  in  state  a  palace  of  a 
Roman  noble  who  had  been  a  friend  of  his 
Grace's  youth,  they  having  met  and  become  com 
panions  when  the  Duke  first  visited  Rome  in 
making  the  grand  tour.  'Twas  a  visit  long 
promised  to  the  Roman  gentleman  who  had 
more  than  once  been  a  guest  of  their  household 
in  England  ;  and  but  for  affairs  of  his  Grace  of 
Marlborough,  which  Roxholm  had  bound  himself 
to  keep  eye  on,  he  also  would  have  been  of  the 


122       HIS  GRACE  OF   OSMONDE 

party.  As  matters  stood,  honour  held  him  on 
English  soil,  for  which  reason  he  went  to  Camy- 
lott  to  spend  the  last  weeks  with  those  he  loved, 
amid  the  country  loveliness. 

When  my  lord  Marquess  journeyed  to  the 
country  he  took  no  great  cavalcade  with  him,  but 
only  a  couple  of  servants  to  attend  him,  while 
Mr.  Fox  rode  at  his  side.  The  English  June 
weather  was  heavenly  fair,  and  the  country  a 
bower  of  green,  the  sun  shining  with  soft  warmth 
and  the  birds  singing  in  the  hedgerows  and  upon 
the  leafy  boughs.  To  ride  a  fine  horse  over  coun 
try  roads,  by  wood  and  moor  and  sea,  is  a  pleas 
ant  thing  when  a  man  is  young  and  hale  and  full 
of  joy  in  Nature's  loveliness,  and  above  all  is  rid 
ing  to  a  home  which  seems  more  beautiful  to  him 
than  any  place  on  earth.  One  who  has  lived 
twenty-eight  years,  having  no  desire  unfulfilled, 
and  taking  his  part  of  every  pleasure  that  wealth, 
high  birth,  and  a  splendid  body  can  give  him, 
may  well  ride  gaily  over  a  good  white  road  and 
have  leisure  to  throw  back  his  head  to  hearken  to 
a  skylark  soaring  in  the  high  blue  heavens  above 
him,  to  smile  at  a  sitting  bird's  bright  eyes  peep 
ing  timidly  at  him  from  under  the  thick  leafage 
of  a  hazel  hedge,  or  at  the  sight  of  a  family  of 
rabbits  scurrying  over  the  cropped  woodland 
grass  at  the  sound  of  his  horse's  feet,  their  short 
white  tails  marking  their  leaps  as  they  dart  from 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE       123 

one  fern  shelter  to  the  other ;  and  to  slacken  his 
horse's  pace  as  he  rides  past  village  greens,  mark 
ing  how  the  little  children  tumble  and  are  merry 
there. 

So  my  lord  Marquess  rode  and  Mr.  Fox  with 
him,  for  two  days  at  least.  In  the  dewy  morning 
they  set  forth  and  travelled  between  green  hedge 
rows  and  through  pretty  tiny  villages,  talking 
pleasantly,  as  old  friends  will  talk,  for  to  the  day 
of  his  old  preceptor's  peaceful  dying  years  later  at 
Camylott,  the  Marquess  (who  was  then  a  Duke) 
loved  and  treated  him  as  a  companion  and  friend, 
not  as  a  poor  underling  Chaplain  who  must  rise 
from  table  as  if  dismissed  by  the  course  of  sweet 
meats  when  it  appeared.  For  refreshments  they 
drew  rein  at  noon  before  some  roadside  inn  whose 
eager  host  spread  before  them  his  very  best,  and 
himself  waited  upon  them  in  awful  joy.  When 
the  sun  set,  one  manservant  rode  on  before  to 
prepare  for  their  entertainment  for  the  night,  and 
when  they  cantered  up  to  the  hostelry,  they 
found  the  whole  establishment  waiting  to  receive 
and  do  them  honour,  landlord  and  landlady  bow 
ing  and  curtseying  on  the  threshold,  maidser 
vants  peeping  from  behind  doors  and  through 
upper  windows,  and  loiterers  from  the  village 
hanging  about  ready  to  pull  forelocks  or  bob 
curtseys,  as  their  sex  demanded. 

"  'Tis    my    lord    Marquess    of    Roxholm,    the 


124      HIS  GRACE   OF  OSMONDE 

great  Duke  of  Osmonde's  heir,"  they  would  hear 
it  whispered.  "  He  has  come  back  from  the  wars 
covered  with  wounds  and  now  rides  to  pay  his 
respects  to  their  Graces,  his  parents,  at  Camylott 
Tower." 

'Twas  a  pleasant  journey  ;  Roxholm  always  re 
membered  and  often  spoke  of  it  in  after  years, 
for  his  thought  was  that  in  setting  out  upon  it  he 
had  begun  to  journey  towards  that  which  Fate, 
it  seemed,  had  ordained  that  he  should  reach — 
though  through  dark  nights  and  stormy  days — at 
last. 

'Twas  on  the  morning  of  the  fourth  day  there 
befel  them  a  strange  adventure,  and  one  which 
had  near  ended  in  dark  tragedy  for  one  human 
being  at  least. 

The  horse  his  lordship  rode  was  a  beautiful 
fiery  creature,  and  sometimes  from  sheer  pleasure 
in  his  spirit,  his  master  would  spur  him  to  a  wild 
gallop  in  which  he  went  like  the  wind's  self, 
showing  a  joy  in  the  excitement  of  it  which  was 
beauteous  to  behold.  When  this  fourth  morning 
they  had  been  but  about  an  hour  upon  the  road, 
Roxholm  gave  to  the  creature's  glossy  neck  the 
touch  which  was  the  signal  'twas  his  delight  to 
answer. 

"  Watch  him  shoot  forward  like  an  arrow  from 
a  bow,"  my  lord  said  to  Mr.  Fox,  and  the  next 
instant  was  yards  away. 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE       125 

He  flew  like  the  wind,  his  hoofs  scarce  seeming 
to  touch  the  earth  as  he  sped  forward,  my  lord 
sitting  like  a  Centaur,  his  face  aglow  with  pleas 
ure,  even  Mr.  Fox's  soberer  animal  taking  fire 
somewhat  and  putting  himself  at  a  gallop,  his 
rider's  elderly  blood  quickening  with  his. 

One  side  of  the  road  they  were  upon  was  high 
er  than  the  other  and  covered  with  a  wood,  and 
as  Mr.  Fox  followed  at  some  distance  he  beheld 
a  parlous  sight.  At  a  turn  in  the  way,  down  the 
bank,  there  rushed  a  woman,  a  frantic  figure,  hair 
flying,  garments  disordered,  and  with  a  shriek 
flung  herself  full  length  upon  the  earth  before  my 
lord  Marquess's  horse,  as  if  with  the  intent  that 
the  iron  hoofs  should  dash  out  her  brains  as  they 
struck  ground  again.  Mr.  Fox  broke  forth  into 
a  cry  of  horror,  but  even  as  it  left  his  lips  he  be 
held  a  wondrous  thing,  indeed,  though  'twas  one 
which  brought  his  heart  into  his  throat.  The 
excited  beast's  fore  parts  were  jerked  upward  so 
high  that  he  seemed  to  rear  till  he  stood  almost 
straight  upon  his  hind  legs,  his  fore  feet  beating 
the  air ;  then,  by  some  marvel  of  strength  and 
skill,  his  body  was  wheeled  round  and  his  hoofs 
struck  earth  at  safe  distance  from  the  prostrate 
woman's  head. 

My  lord  sprang  from  his  back  and  stood  a  mo 
ment  soothing  his  trembling,  the  animal  snorting 
and  panting,  the  foam  flying  from  his  nostrils  in 


126      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

his  terror  at  a  thing  which  his  friend  and  master 
had  never  done  to  him  before.  The  two  loved 
each  other,  and  in  Roxholm's  heart  there  was  a 
sort  of  rage  that  he  should  have  been  forced  to 
inflict  upon  him  so  harsh  a  shock. 

The  woman  dragged  herself  half  up  from  the 
white  dust  on  which  she  had  lain.  She  was  shud 
dering  convulsively,  her  long  hair  was  hanging 
about  her,  her  eyes  wild  and  anguished,  and  her 
lips  shivering  more  than  trembling. 

"  Oh,  God  !  Oh,  God  !  "  she  wailed,  and  then  let 
herself  drop  again  and  writhed,  clutching  at  the 
white  dust  with  her  hands. 

"  Are  you  mad  ?  "  said  Roxholm,  sternly,  "  or 
only  in  some  hysteric  fury  ?  Would  you  have 
your  brains  dashed  out?" 

She  flung  out  her  arms,  tearing  at  the  earth 
still  and  grinding  her  teeth. 

"  Yes — dashed  out !  "  she  cried  ;  "  all  likeness 
beaten  from  my  face  that  none  might  know  it 
again.  For  that  I  threw  myself  before  you." 

The  Marquess  gave  his  horse  to  the  servant, 
who  had  ridden  to  him,  and  made  a  sign  both  to 
him  and  Mr.  Fox  that  they  ride  a  little  forward. 

He  bent  over  the  girl  (for  she  was  more  girl 
than  woman,  being  scarce  eighteen)  and  put  his 
hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"  Get  up,  Mistress,"  he  said.  "  Rise  and  strive 
to  calm  yourself." 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      127 

Suddenly  his  voice  had  taken  a  tone  which  had 
that  in  its  depths  no  creature  in  pain  would  not 
understand  and  answer  to.  His  keen  eye  had 
seen  a  thing  which  wrung  his  heart,  it  seeming  to 
tell  so  plainly  all  the  cruel  story. 

"  Come,  poor  creature,"  he  said,  "let  me  help 
you  to  your  feet." 

He  put  his  strong  arm  about  her  body,  and 
lifted  her  as  if  she  had  been  a  child,  and  finding 
she  was  so  trembling  that  she  had  not  strength  to 
support  herself,  he  even  carried  her  to  the  grass 
and  laid  her  down  upon  it.  She  had  a  lovely 
gipsy  face  which  should  have  been  brilliant  with 
beauty,  but  was  wild  and  wan  and  dragged  with 
horrid  woe.  Her  great  roe's  eyes  stared  at  him 
through  big,  welling  tears  of  agony. 

"  You  look  like  some  young  lord  !  "  she  cried. 
"  You  have  a  beautiful  face  and  a  sweet  voice. 
Any  woman  would  believe  you  if  you  swore  a 
thing!  What  are  women  to  do!  Are  you  a 
villain,  too — are  you  a  villain,  too  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  he,  looking  at  her  straight. 
"No,  I  am  not." 

"  All  men  are  ! "  she  broke  forth,  wildly.  "  They 
lie  to  us — they  trick  us — they  swear  to  us — and 
kneel  and  pray — and  then" — tossing  up  her  arms 
with  a  cry  that  was  a  shriek — "  they  make  us 
kneel — and  laugh — laugh — and  laugh  at  us !  " 

She  threw  herself  upon  the  grass  and  rolled 


128      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

about,  plucking  at  her  flesh  as  if  she  had  indeed 
gone  mad. 

"  But  for  you,"  she  sobbed,  "it  would  be  over 
now,  and  your  horse's  hoofs  had  stamped  me  out. 
And  now  'tis  to  do  again — for  I  will  do  it  yet." 

"  Nay,  you  will  not,  Mistress,"  he  said,  in  a  still 
voice,  "  for  your  child's  sake." 

He  thought,  indeed,  she  would  go  mad  then : 
she  so  writhed  and  beat  herself,  that  he  blamed 
himself  for  his  words,  and  knelt  by  her,  restrain 
ing  her  hands. 

"  'Tis  for  its  sake  I  would  kill  myself,  and  have 
my  face  beaten  into  the  bloody  dust.  I  would 
kill  it — kill  it — kill  it — more  than  I  would  kill 
myself!" 

"  Nay,  you  would  not,  poor  soul,"  he  said,  "  if 
you  were  not  distraught." 

"  But  I  am  distraught,"  she  wailed  ;  "and  there 
is  naught  but  death  for  both  of  us." 

"  Twas  a  strange  situation  for  a  young  man  to 
find  himself  in,  watching  by  the  roadside  the  hys 
teric  frenzy  of  a  maddened  girl;  but  as  he  had 
been  unconscious  on  the  day  he  stood,  an  unclad 
man,  giving  the  aid  that  would  save  a  life,  so  he 
thought  now  of  naught  but  the  agony  he  saw  in 
this  poor  creature's  awful  eyes  and  heard  in  her 
strangled  cries.  It  mattered  naught  to  him  that 
any  passing  would  have  thought  themselves  gaz 
ing  upon  a  scene  in  a  strange  story. 


HIS  GRACE  OF   OSMONDE       129 

There  was  a  little  clear  stream  near,  and  he 
went  and  brought  her  water,  making  her  drink  it 
and  bathe  the  dust-stains  from  her  face  and  hands, 
and  the  gentle  authority  with  which  he  made  her 
do  these  simple  things  seemed  somehow  to  some 
what  calm  her  madness.  She  looked  up  at  him 
staring,  and  with  long,  sobbing  breaths. 

"  Who — are  you  ?  "  she  asked,  helplessly. 

4<  I  am  the  Marquess  of  Roxholm,"he  answered, 
"  and  I  ride  to  my  father's  house  at  Camylott ; 
but  I  cannot  leave  you  until  I  know  you  are  safe." 

"Safe!"  she  said.  "I  safe!"  and  she  clasped 
her  hands  about  her  knees  as  she  sat,  wringing 
her  fingers  together.  "  You  do  not  ask  me  who  I 
am,"  she  added. 

"  I  need  not  know  your  name  to  do  you  service," 
he  answered.  "  But  I  must  ask  you  where  you 
would  go — to  rest." 

"  To  Death — from  which  you  have  plucked 
me  ! "  was  her  reply,  and  she  dropped  her  head 
against  her  held-up  knees  and  broke  forth  sob 
bing  again.  "  I  tell  you  there  is  naught  else.  If 
your  horse  had  beat  my  face  into  the  dust,  none 
would  have  known  where  I  lay  at  last.  Five  days 
have  I  walked  and  my  very  clothes  I  changed 
with  a  gipsy  woman.  None  would  have  known." 
Suddenly  she  looked  up  with  shame  and  terror  in 
her  eyes,  the  blood  flaming  in  her  face.  She  in 
voluntarily  clutched  at  his  sleeve  as  if  in  her 


130      HIS  GRACE  OF   OSMONDE 

horror  she  must  confide  even  to  this  -stranger. 
"  They  had  begun  to  look  at  me — and  whisper," 
she  said.  "And  one  day  a  girl  who  hated  me 
laughed  outright  as  I  passed — though  I  strove  to 
bear  myself  so  straightly — and  I  heard  her  mock 
me.  'Pride  cometh  first/  she  said,  'and  then 
the  fall.  She  hath  fallen  far.'  " 

She  looked  so  young  and  piteous  that  Roxholm 
felt  a  mist  pass  before  his  eyes. 

"  Poor  child  !  "  he  said  ;  "  poor  child  !  " 
"  I  was  proud,"  she  cried.  "  It  was  my  sin. 
They  taunted  me  that  he  was  a  gentleman  and 
meant  me  ill,  and  it  angered  me — poor  fool — and 
I  held  my  head  higher.  He  told  me  he  had  writ 
for  his  Chaplain  to  come  and  wed  us  in  secret. 
He  called  me  '  my  lady '  and  told  me  what  his 
pride  in  me  would  be  when  we  went  to  the  town." 
She  put  her  hands  up  to  her  working  throat  as  if 
somewhat  strangled  her,  and  the  awful  look  came 
back  into  her  widened  eyes.  "  In  but  a  little  while 
he  went  away,"  she  gasped — "  and  when  he  came 
back,  and  I  went  to  meet  him  in  the  dark  and 
fell  weeping  upon  his  breast,  he  pushed  me  back 
and  looked  at  me,  and  curled  his  lip  laughing, 
and  turned  away  !  Oh,  John  ! — John  Oxon ! "  she 
cried  out,  "  God  laughs  at  women — why  shouldst 
not  thou  ?  "  and  her  paroxysm  began  again. 

At  high  noon  a  wagoner  whose  cart  was  loaded 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE       131 

with  hay  drove  into  the  rick  yard  of  a  decent 
farm-house  some  hours'  journey  from  the  turn  in 
the  road  where  my  lord  Marquess  had  been  so 
strangely  checked  in  his  gallop.  An  elderly 
gentleman  in  Chaplain's  garb  and  bands  rode  by 
the  rough  conveyance,  and  on  a  bed  made  in  the 
hay  a  woman  lay  and  groaned  in  mortal  anguish. 

The  good  woman  of  the  house  this  reverend 
gentleman  saw  alone  and  had  discourse  with,  pay 
ing  her  certain  moneys  for  the  trouble  she  would 
be  put  to  by  the  charge  he  commanded  to  her, 
himself  accompanying  her  when  she  went  out  to 
the  wagon  to  care  for  its  wretched  burden. 

Throughout  the  night  she  watched  by  her  pa 
tient's  bedside,  but  as  da}^  dawned  she  left  it  for  a 
moment  to  call  the  Chaplain  to  come  quickly,  he 
having  remained  in  the  house  that  he  might  be  at 
hand  if  need  should  be,  in  accordance  with  his  pa 
tron's  wishes. 

"  Tis  over,  and  she  is  dying,"  said  the  good 
woman.  "  I  fear  she  hath  not  her  wits,  poor  soul. 
All  night  she  hath  cried  one  name,  and  lies  and 
moans  it  still." 

Mr.  Fox  followed  her  into  a  little  cleanly,  raf 
tered  chamber.  He  knelt  by  the  bedside  and 
spoke  gently  to  the  girl  who  lay  upon  the  white 
pillows,  her  deathly  face  more  white  than  the 
clean,  coarse  linen.  'Twas  true  she  did  not  see  him, 
but  lay  staring  at  the  wall's  bareness,  her  lips  mov- 


132       HIS  GRACE   OF  OSMONDE 

ing  as  she  muttered  the  name  she  had  shrieked 
and  wailed  at  intervals  throughout  the  hours. 
"John — Oh,  John  Oxon!"he  could  barely  hear. 
11  God  laughs  at  us — why  should  not  such  as 
thou?" 

And  when  the  sun  rose  she  lay  stiff  and  dead, 
with  a  dead  child  in  her  rigid  arm ;  and  Mr.  Fox 
rode  slowly  back  with  a  grave  countenance,  to 
join  his  lord  and  patron  at  the  village  inn,  and  tell 
him  all  was  over. 


CHAPTER  XI 
"  It  Might  Have  Been— It  Might  Have  Been  !  " 

THE  heavenly  summer  weeks  he  passed  .with 
his  beloved  parents  at  Camylott  before  they  set 
forth  on  their  journey  to  the  Continent  remained 
a  sweet  memory  in  the  mind  of  the  young  Mar 
quess  so  long  as  he  lived,  and  was  cherished  by 
him  most  tenderly.  In  those  lovely  June  days  he 
spent  his  hours  with  his  father  and  mother  as  he 
had  spent  them  as  a  child,  and  in  that  greater  inti 
macy  and  closer  communion  which  comes  to  a  son 
with  riper  years,  if  the  situation  is  not  reversed 
and  his  maturity  has  not  drifted  away  from  such 
fondness.  Both  the  Duke  and  Duchess  were 
filled  with  such  noble  pride  in  him  and  he  with 
such  noble  love  of  them.  All  they  had  hoped  for 
in  him  he  had  given  them,  all  his  manly  heart 
longed  for  they  bestowed  upon  him — tenderness, 
companionship,  sympathy  in  all  he  did  or  dreamed 
of  doing. 

After  his  leave  of  absence  it  was  his  intention 
to  rejoin  his  Grace  of  Marlborough  on  the  Conti 
nent  for  a  period,  since  his  great  friend  had  so 
desired,  but  later  he  wrould  return  and  give  up  his 
career  of  arms  to  devote  himself  to  the  interests  of 

133 


134      HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

his  country  in  other  ways,  and  of  this  his  mother 
was  particularly  glad,  feeling  all  a  woman's  fears 
for  his  safety  and  all  her  soft  dread  of  the  horrors 
of  war. 

"  I  would  not  have  shown  you  my  heart  when 
you  went  away  from  England,  Gerald,"  she  said. 
" 'Twould  not  have  been  brave  and  just  to  do  so 
since  'twas  your  desire  to  go.  But  no  woman's 
heart  can  lie  light  in  her  breast  when  her  son  is  in 
peril  every  hour — and  I  could  not  bear  to  think," 
her  violet  eyes  growing  softly  dark,  "that  my 
son  in  winning  glory  might  rob  other  mothers  of 
their  joy." 

In  their  rides  and  talks  together  he  would  relate 
to  his  father  the  story  of  his  campaign,  describe 
to  him  the  brilliant  exploits  of  the  great  Duke, 
whom  he  had  seen  in  his  most  magnificent  hours, 
as  only  those  who  fought  by  his  side  had  seen 
him  ;  but  with  her  Grace  he  did  not  dwell  upon 
such  things,  knowing  she  would  not  be  the  hap 
pier  for  hearing  of  them.  With  her  he  would 
walk  through  the  park,  sauntering  down  the 
avenue  beneath  the  oak-trees,  or  over  the  green 
sward  to  visit  the  deer,  who  knew  the  sound  of 
her  sweet  voice,  it  seemed,  and  hearing  it  as  she 
approached  would  lift  their  delicate  heads  and 
come  towards  her  to  be  caressed  and  fed,  wel 
coming  her  with  the  dewy  lustrousness  of  their 
big  timorous  dark  eyes,  even  the  shyest  does  and 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE       135 

little  fawns  nibbling  from  her  fair  and  gentle 
hand,  and  following  her  softly  a  few  paces  when 
she  turned  away.  Together  she  and  Roxholm 
would  wander  through  all  the  dear  places  he  had 
loved  in  his  childish  years — into  the  rose  gardens, 
which  were  a  riot  of  beauty  and  marvellous  col 
ours  and  the  pride  and  joy  of  the  head  gardener, 
who  lived  for  and  among  them,  as  indeed  they 
were  the  pride  of  those  who  worked  under  his 
command,  not  a  man  or  boy  of  them  knowing  any 
such  pleasure  as  to  see  her  Grace  walk  through 
their  labyrinths  of  bloom  with  my  lord  Marquess, 
each  of  them  rejoicing  in  the  loveliness  on  every 
side  and  gathering  the  fairest  blossoms  as  they 
went,  until  sometimes  they  carried  away  with 
them  rich  sheaves  of  crimson  and  pink  and  white 
and  yellow.  They  loved  the  high-walled  kitchen 
garden,  too,  and  often  visited  it,  spreading  delight 
there  among  its  gardeners  by  praising  its  fine 
growths,  plucking  the  fruit  and  gathering  nose 
gays  of  the  old-fashioned  flowers  which  bordered 
the  beds  of  sober  vegetables — sweet  peas  and 
Canterbury  bells,  wall-flowers,  sweetwilliams,  yel 
low  musk,  and  pansies,  making,  her  Grace  said, 
the  prettiest  nosegay  in  the  world.  Then  they 
would  loiter  through  the  village  and  make  visits 
to  old  men  and  women  sitting  in  the  sun,  to 
young  mothers  with  babies  in  their  arms  and 
little  mites  playing  about  their  feet. 


136      HIS  GRACE  OF   OSMONDE 

"  And  you  never  enter  a  cottage  door,  mother," 
said  Roxholm  in  his  young  manhood's  pride  and 
joy  in  her,  "  but  it  seems  that  the  sun  begins  to 
shine  through  the  little  window,  and  if  there  is  a 
caged  bird  hanging  there  it  begins  to  twitter  and 
sing.  I  cannot  find  a  lady  like  you  " — bending 
his  knee  and  kissing  her  white  fingers  in  gay  ca 
ress.  "  Indeed,  if  I  could  I  should  bring  her  home 
to  you  to  Camylott — and  old  Rowe  might  ring 
his  bells  until  he  lost  his  breath." 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  answered,  "what  your 
father  said  to  me  the  first  morning  I  lay  in  my 
bed  with  you  in  my  arm — old  Rowe  was  ring 
ing  the  bells  as  if  he  would  go  wild.  I  remem 
ber  the  joyful  pealing  of  them  as  it  floated 
across  the  park  to  come  through  my  open  win 
dow.  We  were  so  proud  and  full  of  happiness, 
and  thought  you  so  beautiful — and  you  are, 
Gerald,  yet ;  so  you  are  yet,"  with  the  prettiest 
smile,  "  and  your  father  said  of  you,  '  He  will 
grow  to  be  a  noble  gentleman  and  wed  a  noble 
lady;  and  they  will  be  as  we  have  been — as  we 
have  been,  beloved/  and  we  kissed  each  other 
with  blissful  tears  in  our  eyes,  and  you  moved 
in  my  arm,  and  there  was  a  tiny,  new-born  smile 
on  your  little  face." 

"Dear  one!"  he  said,  kissing  her  hand  more 
gravely  ;  "  dear  one,  God  grant  such  sweetness 
may  come  to  me — for  indeed  I  want  to  love  some 


HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE      137 

woman  dearly,"  and  the  warm  blood  mounted  to 
his  cheek. 

Often  in  their  tender  confidences  they  spoke  of 
this  fair  one  who  was  to  crown  his  happy  life,  and 
one  day,  having  returned  from  a  brief  visit  in  an 
other  county,  as  they  sat  together  in  the  evening 
she  broke  forth  with  a  little  sigh  in  her  sweet 
voice. 

"  Ah,  Gerald,"  she  said,  "  I  saw  in  Gloucester 
shire  the  loveliest  strange  creature — so  lovely  and 
so  strange  that  she  gave  me  an  ache  in  the  heart." 

"And  why,  sweet  one?"  he  asked. 

"  Because  I  think  she  must  be  the  most  splen 
did  beauteous  thing  in  all  the  world — and  she  has 
been  so  ill  used  by  Fate.  Flow  could  the  poor 
child  save  herself  from  ill?  Her  mother  died 
when  she  was  born  ;  her  father  is  a  wicked  blas 
phemous  rioter.  He  has  so  brought  her  up  that 
she  has  known  no  woman  all  her  life,  but  has  been 
his  pastime  and  toy.  From  her  babyhood  she  has 
been  taught  naught  but  evil.  She  is  so  strong 
and  beautiful  and  wild  that  she  is  the  talk  of  all 
the  country.  But,  ah,  Gerald,  the  look  in  her 
great  eyes — her  red  young  mouth — her  wonder- 
fulness!  My  heart  stood  still  to  see  her.  She 
hurt  me  so." 

My  lord  Marquess  looked  down  upon  the  floor 
and  his  brow  knit  itself. 

"Twould  hurt  any  tender  soul  to  see  her,"  he 


138      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

said.  "  I  am  but  a  man — and  I  think  'twas  rage  I 
felt — that  such  a  thing  should  be  cast  to  ravening 
wolves." 

"  You,"  she  cried,  as  if  half  alarmed  ;  "  you  have 
seen  her?" 

"  'Tis  the  beauty  of  Wildairs  you  speak  of, 
surely,"  he  answered ;  "  and  I  have  seen  her  once 
— and  heard  of  her  often." 

"  Oh,  Gerald,"  said  her  Grace,  "  'tis  cruel.  If 
she  had  had  a  mother — if  God  had  but  been  good 
to  her —  '  she  put  her  hand  up  to  her  mouth  to 
check  herself,  in  innocent  dread  of  that  her  words 
implied.  "  Nay,  nay,"  she  said,  "  if  I  would  be 
a  pious  woman  I  must  not  dare  to  say  such  things. 
But  oh  !  dearest  one — if  life  had  been  fair  to  her, 
she — She  is  the  one  you  might  have  loved  and 
who  would  have  worshipped  such  a  man.  It 
might  have  been — it  might  have  been." 

His  colour  died  away  and  left  him  pale — he  felt 
it  with  a  sudden  sense  of  shock. 

"  It  was  not,"  he  said,  hurriedly.  "  It  was  not 
— and  she  is  but  fourteen — and  our  lives  lie  far 
apart.  I  shall  be  in  the  field,  or  at  the  French 
or  Spanish  Courts.  And  were  I  on  English  soil  I 
— I  would  keep  away." 

His  mother  turned  pale  also.  Being  his  mother 
she  felt  with  him  the  beating  of  his  blood — and 
his  face  had  a  strange  look  which  she  had  never 
seen  before.  She  rose  and  went  to  him. 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE       139 

"  Yes,  yes,  you  are  right,"  she  exclaimed.  "  You 
could  not — she  could  not — !  And  'twould  be  best 
to  keep  away — to  keep  away.  For  if  you  loved 
her,  'twould  drive  you  mad,  and  make  you  forget 
what  you  must  be." 

He  tried  to  smile,  succeeding  but  poorly. 

"  She  makes  us  say  strange  things — even  so  far 
distant,"  he  said.  "  Perhaps  you  are  right.  Yes, 
I  will  keep  away." 

And  even  while  he  said  it  he  was  aware  of  a 
strange  tumult  in  him,  and  knew  that,  senseless  as 
it  might  appear,  a  new  thing  had  sprung  to  life  in 
him  as  if  a  flame  had  been  lighted.  And  even  in  its 
first  small  leaping  he  feared  it. 

'Twas  a  week  later  their  Graces  set  forth  upon 
their  journey,  and  though  Roxholm  rode  with 
them  to  Dover,  and  saw  them  aboard  the  packet, 
he  always  felt  in  after  years  that  'twas  in  the 
Long  Gallery  his  mother  had  bidden  him  farewell. 

They  stood  at  the  deep  window  at  the  end 
which  faced  the  west  and  watched  a  glowing 
sunset  of  great  splendour.  Never  had  the  earth 
spread  before  them  seemed  more  beautiful,  or 
Heaven's  self  more  near.  All  the  west  was  piled 
with  heaps  of  stately  golden  cloud — great  and 
high  clouds,  which  were  like  the  mountains  of 
the  Delectable  Land,  and  filled  one  with  awe 
whose  eyes  were  lifted  to  their  glories.  And  all 


140      HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

the  fair  land  was  flooded  with  their  gold.  Her 
Grace  looked  out  to  the  edge  where  moor  and 
sky  seemed  one,  and  her  violet  eyes  shone  to 
radiance. 

"  It  is  the  loveliest  place  in  all  the  world,'*  she 
said.  "  It  has  been  the  loveliest  home — and  I  the 
happiest  woman.  There  has  not  been  an  hour  I 
would  not  live  again." 

She  turned  and  lifted  her  eyes  to  his  face  and 
put  one  hand  on  his  broad  breast.  "  And  you, 
Gerald,"  she  said ;  "  you  have  been  happy.  Tell 
me  you  have  been  happy,  too." 

"  For  twenty-eight  years,"  he  said,  and  folded 
his  hand  over  hers.  "  For  twenty-eight  years." 

She  bent  her  face  against  his  breast  and  kissed 
the  hand  closed  over  her  own. 

"  Yes — yes ;  you  have  been  happy,"  she  said. 
"  You  have  said  it  often  ;  but  before  I  went  away 
I  wanted  to  hear  you  say  it  once  again,"  and  as 
she  gazed  up  smiling,  a  last  ray  from  the  sinking 
sun  shot  through  the  window  and  made  a  halo 
about  her  deep  gold  hair. 


CHAPTER  XII 
In  Which  is  Sold  a  Portrait 

THERE  are  sure  more  forces  in  this  Universe 
than  Man  has  so  far  discovered,  and  so,  not  dream 
ing  of  them,  can  neither  protect  himself  against, 
nor  aid  them  in  their  workings  if  he  would.  Who 
has  not  sometimes  fancied  he  saw  their  mysteri 
ous  movings  and — if  of  daring  mind — been  tempted 
to  believe  that  in  some  future,  even  on  this  earth, 
the  science  of  their  laws  might  be  sought  for  and 
explained  ?  Who  has  not  seen  the  time  when  his 
own  life,  or  that  of  some  other,  seemed  to  flow,  as 
a  current  flows,  either  towards  or  away  from  some 
end,  planned  or  unplanned  by  his  own  mind.  At 
one  time  he  may  plan  and  struggle,  and,  in  spite 
of  all  his  efforts,  the  current  sweeps  him  away  from 
the  object  he  strives  to  attain — as  though  he  were 
a  mere  feather  floating  upon  its  stream ;  at  an 
other,  the  tide  bears  him  onward  as  a  boat  is  borne 
by  the  rapids,  towards  a  thing  he  had  not  dreamed 
of,  nor  even  vaguely  wished  to  reach.  At  such 
hours,  resistance  seems  useless.  We  seize  an  oar, 
it  breaks  in  the  flood  ;  we  snatch  at  an  overhang 
ing  bough,  it  snaps  or  slips  our  grasp ;  we  utter 

141 


142       HIS   GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

cries  for  help,  those  on  the  bank  pass  by  not  hear 
ing,  or  cast  to  us  a  rope  the  current  bears  out  of 
reach.  Then  we  cry  "  Fate  !  "  and  either  wring 
our  hands,  or  curse,  or  sit  and  gaze  straight  before 
us,  while  we  are  swept  on — either  over  the  cata 
ract's  edge  and  .dashed  to  fragments,  or  out  to  the 
trackless  ocean,  to  be  tossed  by  wind  and  wave 
till  some  bark  sees  and  saves  us — or  we  sink. 

From  the  time  of  his  mother's  speech  with  him 
after  her  return  from  Gloucestershire,  thoughts 
such  as  these  passed  often  through  Roxholm's 
mind.  "  It  might  have  been  ;  it  might  have  been," 
she  had  said,  and  the  curious  leap  of  blood  and 
pulse  he  had  felt  had  vaguely  shocked  him.  It 
scarcely  seemed  becoming  that  so  young  a  creat 
ure  as  this  lovely  hoyden  should  so  move  a  man. 
'Twas  the  fashion  that  girl  beauties  should  be 
women  early,  and  at  Court  he  had  seen  young 
things,  wives  and  mothers  when  they  were  scarce 
older ;  but  this  one  seemed  more  than  half  a  boy 
and — and — !  Yet  he  knew  that  he  had  been  in 
earnest  when  he  had  said,  "  I  would  keep  away." 

"  I  know"  he  had  said  to  himself  when  he  had 
been  alone  later  ;  "  I  know  that  if  the  creature  were 
a  woman,  'twould  be  best  that  I  should  keep  away 
— 'twould  be  best  for  any  man  to  keep  away  from 
her,  who  was  not  free  to  bear  any  suffering  his 
passion  for  her  might  bring  him.  The  man  who 
will  be  chief  of  a  great  house  —  whose  actions 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE       143 

affect  the  lives  of  hundreds  —  is  not  free,  even 
to  let  himself  be  put  to  the  torture  " — and  b? 
smiled  unconsciously  the  smile  which  was  a  little 
grim. 

He  had  seen  and  studied  many  women,  and  in 
studying  them  had  learned  to  know  much  of  him 
self.  He  had  not  been  so  unconscious  of  them  as 
he  had  seemed.  Such  a  man  must  meet  with  ad 
ventures  at  any  time,  and  at  a  period  still  tainted 
by  the  freedom  of  a  dissolute  reign,  even  though 
'tis  near  twenty  years  past,  his  life,  in  his  own  de 
spite,  must  contain  incidents  which  would  reveal 
much  to  the  world,  if  related  to  it.  Roxholm  had 
met  with  such  adventures,  little  as  they  were  to 
his  taste,  and  had  found  at  both  foreign  and  Eng 
lish  Courts  that  all  women  were  not  non- attack 
ing  creatures,  and  in  discovering  this  had  learned 
that  a  man  must  be  a  stone  to  resist  the  luring  of 
some  lovely  eyes. 

"  I  need  not  think  myself  invulnerable,"  he  had 
thought  often.  "  I  can  resist  because  I  have  loved 
none  of  them.  Had  it  chanced  otherwise — God 
have  mercy  on  my  soul !  " 

And  now  the  current  of  his  life  for  weeks  seemed 
strangely  set  towards  one  being.  When  he  re 
turned  to  London  after  seeing  his  parents  depart 
for  Italy,  he  met  in  his  first  walk  in  the  city  streets 
his  erst  fellow-collegian  and  officer,  Lieutenant 
Thomas  Tantillion,  in  England  on  leave,  who  al- 


144      HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

most  hallooed  with  joy  at  sight  of  him,  shaking  him 
by  the  hand  as  if  his  arm  had  been  a  pump-handle, 
and  then  thrusting  his  own  arm  through  it,  and 
insisting  affectionately  on  dragging  him  along 
the  street  that  he  might  pour  forth  his  renewed 
protestations  of  affection  and  the  story  of  his  ad 
ventures. 

"  Never  was  I  more  glad  to  see  a  man,"  he  said. 
"  I'm  damned  if  we  scapegraces  have  not  missed 
thy  good-looking  face.  Thou  art  a  fine  fellow, 
Roxholm  —  and  good-natured  —  ay,  and  modest, 
too — for  all  thy  beauty  and  learning.  Many  a 
man,  with  half  thou  hast,  would  wear  grand  Court 
airs  to  a  rattle-pated  rascal  like  Tom  Tantillion. 
Wilford  does  it — and  he  is  but  a  Viscount,  and  for 
all  his  straight  nose  and  fine  eyes  but  five  feet 
ten.  Good  Lord !  he  looks  down  on  us  who  did 
not  pass  well  at  the  University,  like  a  cock  on  a 
dunghill/* 

The  Marquess  laughed  out  heartily,  having  in 
his  mind  a  lively  picture  of  my  Lord  Wilford, 
whose  magnificence  of  bearing  he  knew  well. 

"  Art  coming  back,  Roxholm  ?  "  asked  Tom  next. 
"  When  does  thy  leave  expire  ?" 

"I  am  coming  back,"  Roxholm  answered,  "but 
I  shall  not  long  live  a  soldier's  life.  'Tis  but  part 
of  what  I  wish  to  do." 

"  His  Grace  of  Maryborough  misses  thee,  I  war 
rant,"  said  Tom.  "  Tis  often  said  he  never  loved  a 


HIS   GRACE  OF  OSMONDE      145 

human  thing  on  earth  but  John  Churchill  and  his 
Duchess,  but  I  swear  he  warmed  to  thee." 

"  He  did  me  honour,  if  'tis  true,"  Roxholm  said, 
"  but  I  am  not  vain  enough  to  believe  it — gracious 
as  he  has  been." 

At  that  moment  his  volatile  companion  gave  his 
arm  a  clutch  and  stopped  their  walk  as  if  a  sudden 
thought  had  seized  him. 

"  Where  wert  thou  going,  Roxholm?  "  he  asked. 
"  Lord,  Lord,  I  was  so  glad  to  see  thee,  that  I 
forgot." 

"  What  didst  forget,  Tom  ?  " 

Tom  slapt  his  thigh  hilariously.  "  That  I  had 
an  errand  on  hand.  A  good  joke,  split  me,  Rox 
holm  !  Come  with  me  ;  I  go  to  see  the  picture  of 
a  beauty,  stole  by  the  painter,  who  is  always 
drunk,  and  with  his  clothes  in  pawn,  and  lives  in 
a  garret  in  Rag  Lane." 

He  was  in  the  highest  spirits  over  the  advent 
ure,  and  would  drag  Roxholm  with  him,  telling 
him  the  story  as  they  went.  The  painter,  who  was 
plainly  enough  a  drunken  rapscallion  fellow,  in 
strolling  about  the  country,  getting  his  lodging 
and  skin  full  of  ale,  now  here,  now  there,  by  daub 
ing  Turks'  Heads,  Foxes  and  Hounds,  and  Pigs 
and  Whistles,  as  signs  for  rustic  ale-houses,  had 
seen  ride  by  one  day  a  young  lady  of  such  beauty 
that  he  had  made  a  sketch  of  her  from  memory, 
and  finding  where  she  lived,  had  hung  about  in 

10 


146      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

the  park  to  get  a  glimpse  of  her  again,  an.d  having 
succeeded,  had  made  her  portrait  and  brought  it 
back  to  town,  in  the  hope  that  some  gentleman 
might  be  taken  by  its  charms  and  buy  it. 

"  He  hath  drunk  himself  down  to  his  last  groat, 
and  will  let  it  go  for  a  song  now,"  said  Tom.  "  I 
would  get  there  before  any  other  fellow  does. 
Jack  Wyse  and  Hal  Langton  both  want  it,  but 
they  have  gamed  their  pockets  empty,  and  wait 
till  necessity  forces  him  to  lower  his  price  to  their 
means.  But  an  hour  since;  I  heard  that  he  had 
pawned  his  breeches  and  lay  in  bed  writing  beg 
ging  letters.  So  now  is  the  time  to  visit  him.  It 
was  in  Gloucestershire  he  found  her " 

He  stopped  and  turned  round. 

"  Hang  me !  'Tis  the  very  one  Bet  wrote  of, 
and  I  read  you  the  letter.  Dost  remember  it? 
The  vixen  who  clouted  the  Chaplain  for  kissing 
her." 

"Yes,"  said  Roxholm  ;  "  I  remember." 

Tom  rattled  on  in  monstrous  spirits.  "  I  have 
had  further  letters  from  Bet,"  he  said,  "  and  each 
is  a  sermon  with  the  beauty's  sins  for  a  text.  The 
women  are  so  jealous  of  her  that  the  men  could 
not  forget  her  if  they  would,  they  scold  so  ever 
lastingly.  Lord,  what  a  stir  the  hoyden  is  mak- 
ing!" 

They  turned  into  Rag  Lane  presently,  and  'twas 
dingy  enough,  being  a  dirty,  narrow  place,  with 


HIS  GRACE   OF  OSMONDE       147 

high  black  houses  on  either  side,  their  windows 
broken  and  stuffed  with  bits  of  rag  and  paper, 
their  doorways  ornamented  with  slatternly  wom 
en  or  sodden-faced  men,  while  up  and  down  ran 
squalid,  noisy  children  under  the  flapping  pieces 
of  poor  wearing  apparel  hung  on  lines  to  dry. 

After  some  questioning  they  found  the  house 
the  man  they  were  in  search  of  lived  in,  and  'twas 
a  shade  dingier  than  the  rest.  They  mounted  a 
black  broken-down  stairway  till  they  reached  the 
garret,  and  there  knocked  at  the  door. 

For  a  few  moments  there  was  no  answer,  but 
that  they  could  hear  loud  and  steady  snores  with 
in. 

"  He  is  sleeping  it  off!"  said  Tom,  grinning, 
and  whacked  loudly  on  the  door's  cracked  panels, 
by  which,  after  two  or  three  attacks,  he  evidently 
disturbed  the  sleeper,  who  was  heard  first  to  snort 
and  then  to  begin  to  grumble  forth  drowsy  pro 
fanities. 

"  Let  us  in,"  cried  Tom.  "  I  bring  you  a  patron, 
sleepy  fool." 

Then  'twas  plain  some  one  tumbled  from  his 
bed  and  shuffled  forward  to  the  door,  whose  handle 
he  had  some  difficulty  in  turning.  But  when  he 
got  the  door  open,  and  caught  sight  of  lace  and 
velvet,  plumed  hats  and  shining  swords,  he  was 
not  so  drunk  but  that  which  the  sight  suggested 
enlivened  and  awaked  him.  He  uttered  an  ex- 


148      HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

clamation,  threw  the  door  wide,  and  stood  mak 
ing  unsteady  but  humbly  propitiatory  bows. 

"  Your  lordships'  pardon,"  he  said.  "  I  was 
asleep  and  knew  not  that  such  honour  awaited 
me.  Enter,  your  lordships ;  I  pray  you  enter." 

Twas  a  little  mean  place  with  no  furnishings 
but  a  broken  bedstead,  a  rickety  chair,  and  an  un 
cleanly  old  table  on  which  were  huddled  together 
a  dry  loaf,  an  empty  bottle,  and  some  poor 
daubs  of  pictures.  The  painter  himself  was  an 
elderly  man  with  a  blotched  face,  a  bibulous  eye, 
and  half  unclothed,  he  having  wrapped  a  dirty 
blanket  about  his  body  to  conceal  decently  his 
lack  of  nether  garments. 

"  We  come  to  look  at  your  portrait  of  the 
Gloucestershire  beauty,"  said  Tom. 

"  All  want  to  look  at  it,  my  Lord,"  said  the  man, 
with  a  Jeer,  half  servile,  half  cunning.  "There 
came  two  young  gentlemen  of  fashion  yesterday 
morning,  and  almost  lost  their  wits  at  sight  of  it. 
Either  would  have  bought  it,  but  both  had  had  ill 
luck  at  basset  for  a  week  and  so  could  do  no  more 
than  look,  and  go  forth  with  their  mouths  water 
ing." 

Tom  grinned. 

"  You  painters  are  all  rogues  who  would  bleed 
every  gentleman  you  see,"  he  said. 

"  We  are  poor  fellows  who  find  it  hard  to  sell 
our  wares/'  the  artist  answered.  " '  Tis  only  such 


HIS  GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      149 

as  the  great  Mr.  Kneller  who  do  not  starve,  and 
lie  abed  because  their  shirts  and  breeches  are  in 
pawn.  When  a  man  has  a  picture  like  to  take  the 
fancy  of  every  young  nobleman  in  town,  he  may 
well  ask  its  value." 

"  Let  us  see  it/'  cried  Tom.  "To  a  gentleman 
it  may  seem  a  daub." 

The  man  looked  at  him  slyly. 

"  'Twould  pay  me  to  keep  it  hid  here  and  ex 
hibit  it  for  a  fee,"  he  said.  "  The  gentlemen  who 
were  here  yesterday  will  tell  others,  and  they  will 
come  and  ask  to  look  at  it,  and  then— 

"  Show  it  to  us,  sir,"  said  Roxholm,  breaking  in 
suddenly  in  his  deeper  voice  and  taking  a  step 
forward. 

He  had  stood  somewhat  behind,  not  being  at 
first  in  the  mood  to  take  part  in  the  conversation, 
having  no  liking  for  the  situation.  That  a  young 
lady's  portrait  should  be  stolen  from  her,  so  to 
speak,  and  put  on  sale  by  a  drunken  painter  without 
her  knowledge,  annoyed  him — and  the  man's  leer 
ing  hint  of  its  future  exhibition  roused  his  blood. 

"  Show  it  to  us,  sir,"  he  said,  and  in  his  voice 
there  was  that  suggestion  of  command  which  is 
often  in  the  voice  of  a  man  who  has  had  soldiers 
under  him. 

The  but  half-sober  limner  being  addressed  by 
him  for  the  first  time,  and  for  the  first  time  look 
ing  at  him  directly,  gave  way  to  a  slight  hiccough- 


150       HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

ing  start  and  strove  to  stand  more  steady.  'Twas 
no  gay  youthful  rake  who  stood  before  him,  but 
plainly  a  great  gentleman,  and  most  amazing  tall 
and  stately.  'Twas  not  a  boy  come  to  look  at  a 
peep-show,  but  might  be  a  possible  patron. 

"  Yes,  your  Lordship,"  he  stammered,  bowing 
shakily,  "  I — I  will  bring  it  forth.  Your  Lord 
ship  will  find  the  young  lady  a  wonder."  He  went 
swaying  across  the  room,  and  opened  a  cupboard 
in  the  wall.  The  canvas  stood  propped  up  with 
in,  and  he  took  it  out  and  brought  it  back  to  them 
—keeping  its  face  turned  away. 

"  Let  me  set  it  in  as  good  a  light  as  the  poor 
place  can  give,"  he  said,  and  dragged  forth  the 
rickety-legged  chair  that  he  might  prop  it  against 
its  back,  for  the  moment  looking  less  drunk  and 
less  a  vagabond  in  his  eagerness  to  do  his  work 
justice ;  there  lurking  somewhere,  perhaps,  in  his 
besotted  being,  that  love  which  the  artist  soul  feels 
for  the  labour  of  its  dreams. 

"  In  sooth,  my  Lord,  'tis  a  thing  which  should 
have  been  better  done,"  he  said.  "  I  could  have 
done  the  young  lady's  loveliness  more  justice, 
had  I  but  had  the  time.  First  I  saw  her  for  scarce 
more  than  a  moment,  and  her  face  so  haunted  me 
that  I  sketched  it  for  my  own  pleasure — and  then 
I  hung  about  her  father's  park  for  days,  until  by 
great  fortune  I  came  upon  her  one  morning  stand 
ing  under  a  tree,  her  dogs  at  her  feet,  and  she  lost 


HIS   GRACE  OF  OSMONDE       151 

in  thought — and  with  such  eyes  gazing  before 
her — !  I  stood  behind  a  tree  and  did  my  best, 
trembling  lest  she  should  turn.  But  no  man 
could  paint  her  eyes,  my  Lord,"  rubbing  his  head 
ruefully  ;  "  no  man  could  paint  them.  Mr.  Kneller 
will  not — when  she  weds  a  Duke  and  comes  to 
queen  it  at  the  Court." 

He  had  managed  to  keep  before  the  picture  as 
he  spoke,  and  now  he  stepped  aside  and  let  them 
behold  it,  glancing  from  one  to  the  other. 

"  Damn  !  "  cried  Tom  Tantillion,  and  sprang  for 
ward  from  his  chair  at  sight  of  it. 

My  Lord  Marquess  made  no  exclamation  nor 
spoke  one  word.  The  painter  marked  how  tall 
he  stood  as  he  remained  stationary,  gazing.  He 
had  folded  his  arms  across  his  big  chest  and 
seemed  to  have  unconsciously  drawn  himself  to 
his  full  height.  Presently  he  spoke  to  the  artist, 
though  without  withdrawing  his  eyes  from  the 
picture. 

"  'Tis  no  daub,"  he  said.  "  For  a  thing  done 
hastily  'tis  done  well.  You  have  given  it  spirit." 

'Twas  fairly  said.  Indeed,  the  poor  fellow  knew 
something  of  his  trade,  'twas  evident,  and  perhaps 
for  once  he  had  been  sober,  and  inspired  by  the 
fire  of  what  he  saw  before  him. 

She  stood  straight  with  her  back  against  a  tree's 
trunk,  her  hands  behind  her,  her  eyes  gazing  be 
fore.  She  was  tall  and  strong  as  young  Diana; 


152      HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

under  the  shadow  of  her  Cavalier  hat,  ner  rich- 
tinted  face  was  in  splendid  gloom,  it  seeming 
gloom,  not  only  because  her  hair  was  like  night, 
and  her  long  and  wide  eyes  black,  but  because  in 
her  far-off  look  there  was  gloom's  self  and  some 
what  like  a  hopeless  rebellious  yearning.  She 
seemed  a  storm  embodied  in  the  form  of  woman, 
and  yet  in  her  black  eyes'  depths — as  if  hid  behind 
their  darkest  shadows  and  unknown  of  by  her 
very  self — there  lay  the  possibility  of  a  great  and 
strange  melting — a  melting  which  was  all  woman 
— and  woman  who  was  queen. 

"  By  the  Lord !  "  cried  Tom  Tantillion  again, 
and  then  flushed  up  boyishly  and  broke  forth  into 
an  awkward  laugh.  "  She  is  too  magnificent  a 
beauty  for  an  empty-pocketed  rascal  like  me  to  offer 
to  buy  her.  I  have  not  what  would  pay  for  her — 
and  she  knows  it.  She  sets  her  own  price  upon 
herself,  as  she  stands  there  curling  her  vermilion 
lip  and  daring  a  man  to  presume  to  buy  her  cheap. 
'Tis  only  a  great  Duke's  son  who  may  make  bold 
to  bid."  And  he  turned  and  bowed,  half  laughing, 
half  malicious,  to  Roxholm.  "  You,  my  lord  Mar 
quess  ;  a  purse  as  fall  as  yours  need  not  bargain 
for  the  thing  it  would  have,  but  clap  down  guineas 
for  it." 

"  A  great  Duke's  son !  "  "  My  lord  Marquess !  " 
The  owner  of  the  picture  began  to  prick  up  his 
ears.  Yes,  the  truth  was  what  he  had  thought  it. 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      153 

"  The  gentleman  who  owns  this  picture  when 
the  young  lady  comes  up  to  town  that  the  world 
may  behold  her,"  he  said,  "  will  be  a  proud 
man." 

"  No  gentleman  would  have  the  right  to  keep 
it  if  he  had  not  her  permission,"  said  Roxholm— 
and  he  said  it  without  lightness. 

"  Most  gentlemen  would  keep  it  whether  she 
would  or  no,"  answered  the  painter. 

"  Catch  Langdon  or  Wyse  giving  it  up,"  says 
Tom.  "  And  Wyse  said,  that  blackguard  Oxon 
was  coming  to  see  it  because  he  hath  made  a  bet 
on  her  in  open  club,  and  hearing  of  the  picture, 
said  he  would  come  to  see  if  she  were  worth  his 
trouble — and  buy  her  to  hang  in  his  chambers,  if 
she  were — that  he  might  tell  her  of  it  when  he 
went  to  Gloucestershire  to  lay  siege  to  her.  He 
brags  he  will  persuade  her  he  has  prayed  to  her 
image  for  a  year. 

"  What  is  your  price?  "  said  my  Lord  Roxholm 
to  the  painter. 

The  man  set  one  and  'twas  high,  though  'twould 
not  have  seemed  so  in  an  age  when  art  was  patron 
ised  and  well  paid  for  in  a  country  where  'twas 
more  generously  encouraged  than  in  England  in 
the  days  of  good  Queen  Anne.  In  truth,  the  poor 
fellow  did  not  expect  to  get  half  he  asked,  but 
hoped  by  beginning  well  to  obtain  from  a  Duke's 
son  twice  what  another  gentleman  would  give 


154      HIS   GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

him — and  he  was  prepared  to  haggle,  if  heed  be, 
for  two  hours. 

But  my  lord  Marquess  did  not  haggle.  There 
had  come  into  his  countenance  the  look  of  a  man 
who  has  made  up  his  mind  to  take  the  thing  he 
wants.  He  drew  forth  his  purse  and  paid  down 
the  sum  in  golden  guineas  and  bank-notes,  the 
painter's  eyes  gloating  as  they  were  counted  on 
the  table  and  his  head  growing  giddy  with  his 
joy.  He  would  have  enough  to  live  drunk  for  a 
year,  after  his  own  economical  methods.  A  gar 
ret — and  drink  enough — were  all  he  required  for 
bliss.  The  picture  was  to  be  sent  forthwith  to 
Osmonde  House,  and  these  directions  given,  the 
two  gentlemen  turned  to  go.  But  at  the  door  the 
Marquess  paused  and  spoke  again. 

"  If  any  should  come  here  before  it  is  sent  to 
me,"  he  said,  "  remember  that  'tis  already  pur 
chased  and  not  on  exhibition." 

The  artist  bowed  low  a  dozen  times. 

"  On  my  sacred  honour,  your  Lordship,"  he  re 
plied,  "  none  shall  see  it." 

Roxholm  regarded  him  for  a  moment  as  if  a 
new  thought  had  presented  itself  to  his  mind. 

"  And  remember  also,"  he  added,  "  if  any  should 
ask  you  to  try  to  paint  a  copy  from  memory — or 
to  lie  in  wait  for  the  young  lady  again  and  make 
another — 'tis  better  " — and  his  voice  had  in  it  both 
meaning  and  command — "  "  'tis  far  better  to  please 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE       155 

a  patron,  than  a  purchaser  who  has  a  momentary 
caprice.  Live  soberly  and  do  honest  work — and 
bring  to  me  what  is  worthy  of  inspection.  You 
need  not  starve  unless  'tis  your  wish." 

"  My  lord  Marquess,"  cried  the  man ;  "  your 
noble  Lordship,"  and  he  made  as  if  he  would  fall 
upon  his  knees. 

Roxholm  made  a  gesture  towards  the  picture, 
still  in  its  place  upon  the  crazy  chair. 

"  I  told  you  that  was  no  daub,"  he  said.  "  A 
man  who  can  do  that  much  can  do  more  if  he  has 
the  spirit." 

And  his  visitors  went  out  and  left  the  artist  in 
his  garret,  the  stormy  handsome  creature  gazing 
into  space  on  one  side,  the  guineas  and  bank-notes 
on  the  dusty  table ;  and  after  having  reflected  upon 
both  for  a  little  space,  he  thrust  his  head  out  of 
the  door  and  called  for  his  landlady,  who  having 
beheld  two  richly  clad  gentlemen  come  from  the 
attic,  was  inclined  to  feel  it  safe  to  be  civil,  and 
answering  his  summons  went  up  to  him,  and  being 
called  in,  was  paid  her  long  unpaid  dues  from  the 
little  heap  on  the  table,  the  seeing  of  which  riches 
almost  blinded  her  and  sent  her  off  willingly 
to  the  pawnbroker's  to  bring  back  the  pledged 
breeches  and  coat  and  linen. 

"  The  tall  gentleman  wTith  so  superb  an  air,"  the 
poor  man  said,  proudly,  trembling  with  trium 
phant  joy,  "  is  my  lord  Marquess  of  Roxholm,  and 


156      HIS   GRACE  OF   OSMONDE 

he  is  the  heir  of  the  ducal  house  of  Osmtfnde,  and 
promises  me  patronage.'* 

When  they  passed  out  into  the  street  and  were 
on  their  way  to  St.  James's  Park,  Tom  Tantillion 
was  in  a  state  of  much  interested  excitement. 

"  What  shall  you  do  with  it,  Roxholm?"  he 
asked.  "Have  it  set  in  a  rich  gold  frame  and 
hung  up  on  the  gallery  at  Osmonde  House — or 
in  the  country  ?  Good  Lord !  I  dare  not  have 
carried  her  to  my  lodgings  if  I  could  have  bought 
her.  She  would  be  too  high  company  for  me  and 
keep  me  on  my  best  manners  too  steady.  A  man 
dare  not  play  the  fool  with  such  a  creature  staring 
at  him  from  the  wall.  'Tis  only  a  man  who  is  a 
hero,  and  a  stately  mannered  one,  who  could  stay 
in  the  same  room  with  her  without  being  put  out 
of  countenance.  Will  she  rule  in  the  gallery  in 
town  or  in  the  country  ?  " 

"  She  will  not  be  framed  or  hung,  but  laid 
away,"  answered  Roxholm.  "  I  bought  her  that 
no  ill-mannered  rake  or  braggart  should  get  her 
and  be  insolent  to  her  in  her  own  despite  when 
she  could  not  strike  him  to  his  knees  and  box  his 
ears,  as  she  did  the  Chaplain's — being  only  a  wom 
an  painted  on  canvas."  And  he  showed  his  white, 
strong  teeth  a  little  in  a  strange  smile. 

"  What ! "  cried  Tom.  "  You  did  not  buy  her 
for  your  own  pleasure ?" 


HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE       157 

The  Marquess  stopped  with  a  sudden  move 
ment. 

"  On  my  faith ! "  he  exclaimed,  "  there  is  the 
Earl  of  Dunstanwolde.  He  sees  us  and  comes 
towards  us." 


CHAPTER  XIII 
"  Your  —  Grace !" 

"  COME  with  me,  Gerald,  to  Dunstan's  Wolde," 
said  my  Lord,  as  they  sat  together  that  night  in 
his  town-house.  "  I  would  have  your  company  if 
you  will  give  it  me  until  you  rejoin  Marlborough. 
I  am  lonely  in  these  days." 

His  Lordship  did  not  look  his  usual  self,  seem 
ing,  Roxholm  thought,  worn  and  sometimes  ab 
stracted.  He  was  most  kind  and  affectionate,  and 
there  was  in  his  manner  a  paternal  tenderness 
and  sympathy  which  the  young  man  was  deeply 
touched  by.  If  it  had  been  possible  for  him  to 
have  spoken  to  any  living  being  of  the  singular 
mental  disturbance  he  had  felt  beginning  in  him 
of  late,  he  could  have  confessed  it  to  Lord  Dun- 
stanwolde.  But  nature  had  created  in  him  a  ten 
dency  to  silence  and  reserve  where  his  own  feel 
ings  were  concerned.  As  to  most  human  beings 
there  is  a  consolation  in  pouring  forth  the  inner 
most  secret  thoughts  at  times,  to  him  there  was 
support  in  the  knowledge  that  he  held  all  within 
his  own  breast  and  could  reflect  upon  his  problems 
in  sacred  privacy.  At  this  period,  indeed,  his 

158 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE       159 

feelings  were  such  as  he  could  scarcely  have  de 
scribed  to  any  one.  He  was  merely  conscious  of 
a  sort  of  unrest  and  of  being  far  from  compre 
hending  his  own  emotions.  They  were,  indeed, 
scarcely  definite  enough  to  be  called  emotions, 
but  only  seemed  shadows  hovering  about  him 
and  causing  him  vaguely  to  wonder  at  their  ex 
istence.  He  was  neither  elated  nor  depressed, 
but  found  himself  confronting  fancies  he  had  not 
confronted  before,  and  at  times  regarding  the 
course  of  events  with  something  of  the  feeling  of 
a  fatalist.  There  was  a  thing  it  seemed  from 
which  he  could  not  escape,  yet  in  his  deepest  be 
ing  was  aware  that  he  would  have  preferred  to 
avoid  it.  No  man  wishes  to  encounter  unhappi- 
ness ;  he  was  conscious  remotely  that  this  prefer 
ence  for  avoidance  arose  from  a  vaguely  defined 
knowledge  that  in  one  direction  there  lay  possi 
bilities  of  harsh  suffering  and  pain. 

"  'Tis  a  strange  thing,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  how 
I  seem  forbid  by  Fate  to  avoid  the  path  of  this 
strange  wild  creature.  My  Lord  Maryborough 
brings  her  up  to  me  at  his  quarters,  I  leave  them ; 
and  going  to  my  own,  meet  with  Tantillion  and 
his  letter;  I  enter  a  coffee-house  and  hear  wild 
talk  of  her ;  I  go  to  my  own  house  and  my  mother 
paints  a  picture  of  her  which  stirs  my  very  depths ; 
I  walk  in  the  streets  of  London  and  am  dragged 
aside  to  find  myself  gazing  at  her  portrait ;  I  leave 


i6o      HIS   GRACE   OF  OSMONDE 

it,  and  meet  my  Lord  Dunstanwolde,  who  prays 
me  to  go  to  Warwickshire,  where  I  shall  be  within 
a  few  miles  of  her  and  may  encounter  her  any 
hour.  What  will  come  next?" 

That  which  came  next  was  not  unlike  what  had 
gone  before.  On  their  journey  to  Warwickshire 
my  Lord  Dunstanwolde  did  not  speak  of  the 
lovely  hoyden,  whereat  Roxholm  somewhat  won 
dered,  as  his  lordship  had  but  lately  left  her  neigh 
bourhood  and  her  doings  seemed  the  county's 
scandal ;  but  'tis  true  that  on  their  journey  he 
conversed  little  and  seemed  full  of  thought. 

"  Do  not  think  me  dull,  Gerald,"  he  said  ;  "  'tis 
only  that  of  late  I  have  begun  to  feel  that  I  am  an 
older  man  than  I  thought — perhaps  too  old  to  be 
a  fit  companion  for  youth.  An  old  fellow  should 
not  give  way  to  fancies.  I — I  have  been  giving 
way." 

"  Nay,  nay,  my  dear  lord,"  said  Roxholm  with 
warm  feeling,  "  'tis  to  fancy  you  should  give  way 
— and  'tis  such  as  you  who  are  youths'  best  com 
panions,  since  you  bring  to  those  of  fewer  years 
ripeness  which  is  not  age,  maturity  which  is  not 
decay.  What  man  is  there  of  twenty-eight  with 
whom  I  could  ride  to  the  country  with  such  pleas 
ure  as  I  feel  to-day.  You  have  lived  too  much 
alone  of  late.  'Tis  well  I  came  to  Warwick 
shire." 

This  same  evening  after  they  had  reached  their 


HIS  GRACE  OF   OSMONDE       161 

journey's  end,  on  descending  to  the  saloon  before 
dinner,  his  guest  found  my  lord  standing  before 
the  portrait  of  his  lost  wife  and  gazing  at  it  with 
a  strange  tender  intentness,  his  hands  behind  his 
back.  He  turned  at  Roxholm's  entrance,  and 
there  were  shadows  in  his  eyes. 

"  Such  an  one  as  she/'  he  said,  "  would  forgive 
a  man — even  if  he  seemed  false — and  would  un 
derstand.  But  none  could  be  false  to  her — or  for 
get."  And  so  speaking  walked  away,  the  portrait 
seeming  to  follow  him  with  its  young  flower-blue 
eyes. 

'Twas  the  same  evening  Lord  Twemlow  rode 
over  from  his  estate  to  spend  the  night  with  them, 
and  they  were  no  sooner  left  with  their  wine  than 
he  broke  forth  into  confidence  and  fretting. 

"  I  wanted  to  talk  to  thee,  Edward,"  he  said  to 
Dunstanwolde  (they  had  been  boys  together). 
"  I  am  so  crossed  these  days  that  I  can  scarce 
bear  my  own  company.  'Tis  that  young  jade 
again,  and  I  would  invent  some  measures  to  be 
taken." 

"  Ay,  'tis  she  again,  I  swear,"  had  passed 
through  Roxholm's  mind  as  he  looked  at  his 
wineglass,  and  that  instant  his  Lordship  turned 
on  him  almost  testily  to  explain. 

"  I  speak  of  a  kinswoman  who  is  the  bane  and 
disgrace  of  my  life,  as  she  would  be  the  bane  and 
disgrace  of  any  gentleman  who  was  of  her 
ii 


162       HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

family,"  he  said.  "A  pretty  fool  and  baby  who 
was  my  cousin  married  a  reprobate,  Jeof  Wild- 
airs,  and  this  is  his  daughter  and  is  a  shameless 
baggage.  Egad!  you  must  have  seen  her  on  the 
hunting-field  when  you  were  with  us — riding  in 
coat  and  breeches  and  with  her  mane  of  hair 
looped  under  her  hat." 

"  I  saw  her,"  Roxholm  answered — and  it  seemed 
to  him  that  as  he  spoke  he  beheld  again  the  scar 
let  figure  fly  over  the  hedge  on  its  young  devil  of 
a  horse — and  felt  his  heart  leap  as  the  horse  did. 

My  Lord  Dunstanwolde  looked  grave  and 
pushed  his  glass  back  and  forth  on  the  mahogany. 
Glancing  at  him  Roxholm  thought  his  cheek  had 
flushed,  as  if  he  did  not  like  the  subject.  But 
Twemlow  went  on,  growing  hotter. 

"  One  day  in  the  field,"  he  said,  "it  broke  from 
its  loop — her  hair — and  fell  about  her  like  a  black 
mantle,  streaming  over  her  horse's  back,  and  a 
sight  it  was — and  damn  it,  so  was  she ;  and  every 
man  in  the  field  shouting  with  pleasure  or  laugh 
ter.  And  she  snatched  her  hat  off  with  an  oath 
and  sat  there  as  straight  as  a  dart,  but  in  a  fury 
and  winding  her  coils  up,  with  her  cheeks  as  scar 
let  as  her  coat  and  cursing  like  a  young  vagabond 
stable-boy  between  her  teeth." 

Dunstanwolde  moved  suddenly  and  almost  over 
set  his  glass,  but  Roxholm  took  his  up  and  drained 
it  with  an  unmoved  countenance. 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE       163 

But  he  could  see  her  sitting  in  her  black  hair, 
and  could  see,  too,  the  splendid  scarlet  on  her  an 
gry  cheek,  and  her  eyes  flashing  wickedly. 

"  'Tis  not  decent,"  cried  Lord  Twemlow,  strik 
ing  the  table  with  his  hand.  "  If  the  baggage 
were  not  what  she  is,  it  would  be  bad  enough,  but 
there  is  not  a  woman  in  England  built  so.  'Tis 
well  Charles  Stuart  is  not  on  the  throne,  or  she 
would  outdo  any  Castlemaine  that  ever  ruled  him. 
And  'tis  well  that  Louis  is  in  France  and  that 
Maintenon  keeps  him  sober.  She  might  retrieve 
her  house's  fortunes  and  rule  at  Court  a  Duchess; 
but  what  decent  man  will  look  at  her  with  her 
Billingsgate  and  her  breeches  ?  A  nice  lady  she 
would  make  for  a  gentleman  !  Any  modest  snub- 
nosed  girl  would  be  better.  There  is  scarce  a 
week  passes  she  does  not  set  the  country  by  the 
ears  with  some  fury  or  frolic.  One  time  'tis  clout 
ing  a  Chaplain  till  his  nose  bleeds;  next  'tis 
frightening  some  virtuous  woman  of  fashion  into 
hysteric  swooning  with  her  impudent  flaming 
tongue.  The  women  hate  her,  and  she  pays  them 
out  as  she  only  can.  Lady  Maddon  had  fits  for 
an  hour,  after  an  encounter  with  her,  in  their 
meeting  by  chance  one  day  at  a  mercer's  in  the 
county  town.  She  has  the  wit  of  a  young  she- 
devil  and  the  temper  of  a  tigress,  and  is  so  tall, 
and  towers  so  that  she  frightens  them  out  of  their 
senses." 


164      HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

My  lord  Marquess  looked  at  him  atross  the 
table. 

"  She  is  young,"  he  said,  "  she  is  beautiful.  Is 
there  no  man  who  loves  her  who  can  win  her 
from  her  mad  ways  ?  " 

"  Man !  "  cried  Twemlow,  raging,  "  every 
scoundrel  and  bumpkin  in  the  shire  is  mad  after 
her,  but  she  knows  none  who  are  not  as  bad  as  she 
— and  they  tell  me  she  laughs  her  wild,  scornful 
laugh  at  each  of  them  and  looks  at  him — standing 
with  her  hands  in  her  breeches  pockets  and  her 
legs  astride,  and  mocks  as  if  she  were  some  god 
dess  instead  of  a  mere  strapping,  handsome  vixen. 
*  There  is  not  one  of  ye,'  she  says, '  not  one  among 
ye  who  is  man  and  big  enough  ! '  Such  impudence 
was  never  yet  in  woman  born  !  And  the  worst 
on't  is,  she  is  right — damn  her! — she's  right." 

"  Yes,"  said  my  Lord  Dunstanwolde  with  a 
clouded  face.  "  Tis  a  Man  who  would  win  her — 
young  and  beautiful  and  strong — strong !  " 

"  She  needs  a  master !  "  cried  Twemlow. 

"  Nay,"  said  Roxholm — "  a  mate." 

"  Mate,  good  Lord ! "  cried  Twemlow,  again 
turning  to  stare  at  him.  "  A  master,  say  I." 

"  'Tis  a  barbaric  fancy,"  said  Roxholm  thought 
fully  as  he  turned  the  stem  of  his  glass,  keeping 
his  eyes  fixed  on  it  as  though  solving  a  problem 
for  himself.  "  A  barbaric  fancy  that  a  woman 
needs  a  master.  She  who  is  strong  enough  is  her 


HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE      165 

own  conqueror — as  a  man  should  be  master  of 
himself." 

"  No  gentleman  will  take  her  if  she  does  not 
mend  her  ways,"  Lord  Twemlow  said,  hotly;  "and 
with  all  these  country  rakes  about  her  she  will 
slip — as  more  decently  bred  girls  have.  All  eyes 
are  set  upon  her,  waiting  for  it.  She  has  so  drawn 
every  gaze  upon  her,  that  her  scandal  will  set 
ablaze  a  light  that  will  flame  like  a  beacon-fire  from 
a  hill-top.  She  will  repent  her  bitterly  enough 
then.  None  will  spare  her.  She  will  be  like  a 
hare  let  loose  with  every  pack  in  the  county  set 
upon  her  to  hunt  her  to  her  death." 

"Ah!" — the  exclamation  broke  forth  as  if  in 
voluntarily  from  my  Lord  Dunstanwolde,  and 
Roxholm,  turning  with  a  start,  saw  that  he  had 
suddenly  grown  pale. 

"You  are  ill!"  he  cried.  "You  have  lost 
colour ! " 

"  No !  No  !  "  his  Lordship  answered  hurriedly, 
and  faintly  smiling.  "  'Tis  over !  'Twas  but  a 
stab  of  pain."  And  he  refilled  his  glass  with  wine 
and  drank  it. 

"  You  live  too  studious  a  life,  Ned,"  said 
Twemlow.  "  You  have  looked  but  poorly  this 
month  or  two." 

"  Do  not  let  us  speak  of  it,"  Lord  Dunstanwolde 
answered,  a  little  hurried,  as  before.  "  What — what 
is  it  you  think  to  do — or  have  you  yet  no  plan?" 


1 66       HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

"  If  she  begins  her  fifteenth  year  as*  she  has 
lived  the  one  just  past,"  said  my  lord,  ruffling  his 
periwig  in  his  annoyance, "  I  shall  send  my  Chap 
lain  to  her  father  to  give  him  warning.  We  are 
at  such  odds  that  if  I  went  myself  we  should  come 
to  blows,  and  I  have  no  mind  either  to  be  run 
through  or  to  drive  steel  through  his  thick  body. 
He  would  have  her  marry,  I  would  swear,  and 
counts  on  her  making  as  good  a  match  as  she  can 
make  without  going  to  Court,  where  he  cannot 
afford  to  take  her.  I  shall  lay  command  on 
Twichell  to  put  the  case  clear  before  him — that 
no  gentleman  will  pay  her  honourable  court  while 
he  so  plays  the  fool  as  to  let  her  be  the  scandal  of 
Gloucestershire — aye,  and  of  Worcestershire  and 
Warwickshire  to  boot.  That  may  stir  his  liquor- 
sodden  brain  and  set  him  thinking." 

"  How — will  she  bear  it  ?"  asked  his  Lordship  of 
Dunstanwolde.  "Will  not  her  spirit  take  fire 
that  she  should  be  so  reproved  ?  " 

"'Twill  take  fire  enough,  doubtless — and  be 
damned  to  it !  "  replied  my  Lord  Twemlow,  hotly. 
"  She  will  rage  and  rap  out  oaths  like  a  trooper, 
but  if  Jeof  Wildairs  is  the  man  he  used  to  be,  he 
will  make  her  obey  him,  if  he  chooses — or  he  will 
break  her  back." 

"  'Twould  be  an  awful  battle,"  said  Roxholm, 
"  between  a  will  like  hers  and  such  a  brute  as  he, 
should  her  choice  not  be  his." 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE       167 

"Ay,  he  is  a  great  blackguard,"  commented 
Twemlow,  coolly  enough.  "  England  scarcely 
holds  a  bigger  than  Jeoffry  Wildairs,  and  he  has 
had  the  building  of  her,  body  and  soul." 

'Twas  not  alone  my  Lord  Twemlow  who  talked 
of  her,  but  almost  every  other  person,  so  it  seemed. 
Oftenest  she  was  railed  at  and  condemned,  the 
more  especially  if  there  were  women  in  the  party 
discussing  her ;  but  'twas  to  be  marked  that  at 
such  times  as  men  were  congregated  and  talked 
of  her  faults  and  beauties,  more  was  said  of  her 
charms  than  her  sins.  They  fell  into  relating 
their  stories  of  her,  even  the  soberest  of  them,  as 
if  with  a  sense  of  humour  in  them,  as  indeed  the 
point  of  such  anecdotes  was  generally  humorous 
because  of  a  certain  piquant  boldness  and  lawless 
wild  spirit  shown  in  them.  The  story  of  the  Chap 
lain,  Roxholm  heard  again,  and  many  others  as 
fantastic.  The  retorts  of  this  young  female  Ish- 
mael  upon  her  detractors  and,  assailers,  on  such 
rare  occasions  as  she  encountered  them,  were  full 
of  a  wit  so  biting  and  so  keen  that  they  were 
more  than  any  dared  to  face  when  it  could  be 
avoided.  But  she  was  so  bold  and  ingenious,  and 
so  ready  with  devices,  that  few  could  escape  her. 
Her  companionship  with  her  father's  cronies  had 
given  her  a  curious  knowledge  of  the  adventures 
which  took  place  in  three  counties,  at  least,  and 


i68      HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

her  brain  was  so  alert  and  her  memory  so 'unusual 
that  she  was  enabled  to  confront  an  enemy  with 
such  adroitly  arranged  circumstantial  evidence 
that  more  than  one  poor  beauty  would  far  rather 
have  faced  a  loaded  cannon  than  found  herself 
within  the  immediate  neighbourhood  of  the  mock 
ing  and  flashing  eyes.  Her  meeting  in  the  mer 
cer's  shop  with  the  fair  "  Willow  Wand,"  Lady 
Maddon,  had  been  so  full  of  spirited  and  pungent 
truth  as  to  drive  her  Ladyship  back  to  London 
after  her  two  hours'  fainting  fits  were  over. 

"Look  you,  my  Lady,"  she  had  ended,  in  her 
clear,  rich  girl-voice — and  to  every  word  she  ut 
tered  the  mercer  and  his  shopmen  and  boys  had 
stood  listening  behind  their  counters  or  hid  round 
bales  of  goods,  and  all  grinning  as  they  listened— 
"  I  know  all  your  secrets  as  I  know  the  secrets  of 
other  fine  ladies.  I  know  and  laugh  at  them  be 
cause  they  show  you  to  be  such  fools.  They  are 
but  fine  jokes  to  me.  My  morals  do  not  teach 
me  to  pray  for  you  or  blame  you.  Your  tricks 
are  your  own  business,  not  another  woman's,  and 
I  would  have  told  none  of  them — not  one — if  you 
had  not  lied  about  me.  I  am  not  a  woman  in 
two  things :  I  wear  breeches  and  I  know  how  to 
keep  my  mouth  shut  as  well  as  if  'twere  pad 
locked  ;  but  you  lied  about  me  when  you  told 
the  story  of  young  Lockett  and  me.  'Twas  a 
damned  lie,  my  Lady.  Had  it  been  true  none 


HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE       169 

would  have  known  of  it,  and  he  must  have  been 
a  finer  man — with  more  beauty  and  more  wit. 
But  as  for  the  thing  I  tell  you  of  Sir  James — and 
your  meeting  at— 

But  here  the  fragile  "  Willow  Wand  "  shrieked 
and  fell  into  her  first  fit,  not  having  strength  to 
support  herself  under  the  prospect  of  hearing  the 
story  again  with  further  and  more  special  detail. 

"  I  hear  too  much  of  her,"  Roxholm  said  to  him 
self  at  last.  "  She  is  in  the  air  a  man  breathes,  and 
seems  to  get  into  his  veins  and  fly  to  his  brain." 
He  suddenly  laughed  a  short  laugh,  which  even 
to  himself  had  a  harsh  sound.  <k  "Tis  time  I  should 
go  back  to  Flanders,"  he  said,  "  and  rejoin  his 
Grace  of  Marlborough." 

He  had  been  striding  over  the  hillsides  all  morn- 
ing  with  his  gun  over  his  shoulder,  and  had  just 
before  he  spoke  thrown  himself  down  to  rest.  He 
had  gone  out  alone,  his  mood  pleasing  itself  best 
with  solitude,  and  had  lost  his  way  and  found  him 
self  crossing  strange  land.  Being  wearied  and 
somewhat  out  of  sorts,  he  had  flung  himself  down 
among  the  heather  and  bracken,  where  he  was  well 
out  of  sight,  and  could  lie  and  look  up  at  the  gray 
of  the  sky,  his  hands  clasped  beneath  his  head. 

"  Yes,  'twill  be  as  well  that  I  go  back  to  Flan 
ders,"  he  said  again,  somewhat  gloomily ;  and  as  he 
spoke  he  heard  voices  on  the  fall  of  the  hill  below 
him,  and  glancing  down  through  the  gorse  bushes, 


170       HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

saw  approaching  his  resting-place  four  sportsmen 
who  looked  as  fatigued  as  himself. 

He  did  not  choose  to  move,  thinking  they 
would  pass  him,  and  as  they  came  riearer  he  rec 
ognised  them  one  by  one,  having  by  this  time 
been  long  enough  in  the  neighbourhood  to  have 
learned  both  names  and  faces.  They  were  of  the 
Wildairs  crew,  and  one  man's  face  enlightened 
him  as  to  whose  estate  he  trespassed  upon,  the 
owner  of  the  countenance  being  a  certain  Sir 
Christopher  Crowell,  a  jolly  drunken  dog  whose 
land  he  had  heard  was  somewhere  in  the  neighbour 
hood.  The  other  two  men  were  a  Lord  Elder- 
shawe  and  Sir  Jeoffry  Wildairs  himself,  while  the 
tall  stripling  with  them  'twas  easy  to  give  a  name 
to,  though  she  strode  over  the  heather  with  her 
gun  on  her  shoulder  and  as  full  a  game-bag  as  if 
she  had  been  a  man — it  being  Mistress  Clorinda, 
in  corduroy  and  with  her  looped  hair  threatening 
to  break  loose  and  hanging  in  disorder  about  her 
glowing  face.  They  were  plainly  in  gay  humour, 
though  wearied,  and  talked  and  laughed  noisily  as 
they  came. 

"  We  have  tramped  enough,"  cried  Sir  Jeoffry, 
"  and  bagged  birds  enough  for  one  morning.  'Tis 
time  we  rested  our  bones  and  put  meat  and  drink 
in  our  bellies." 

He  flung  himself  down  upon  the  heather  and 
the  other  men  followed  his  example.  Mistress 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE       171 

Clo,  however,  remaining  standing,  at  first  leaning 
upon  her  gun. 

My  Lord  Marquess  gazed  down  at  her  from  his 
ledge  and  shut  his  teeth  in  anger  at  the  mounting 
of  the  blood  to  his  cheek  and  its  unseemly  burn 
ing  there. 

" 1  will  stay  where  I  am  and  look  at  her,  at 
least,"  he  said.  "  To  be  looked  at  does  no  woman 
harm,  and  to  look  at  one  can  harm  no  man — if  he 
be  going  to  Flanders." 

That  which  disturbed  him  most  was  his  realis 
ing  that  he  always  thought  of  her  as  a  woman — 
and  also  that  she  was  a  wroman  and  no  child. 
'Twas  almost  impossible  to  believe  she  was  no 
older  than  was  said,  when  one  beheld  her  height 
and  youthful  splendour  of  body  and  bearing.  He 
knew  no  woman  of  twenty  as  tall  as  she  and  shaped 
with  such  strength  and  fineness.  Her  head  was 
set  so  on  her  long  throat  and  her  eyes  so  looked 
out  from  under  her  thick  jet  lashes,  that  in  merely 
standing  erect  she  seemed  to  command  and  some 
what  disdain ;  but  when  she  laughed,  her  red  lips 
curling,  her  little  strong  teeth  gleaming,  and  her 
eyes  opening  and  flashing  mirth,  she  was  the 
archest,  most  boldly  joyous  creature  a  man  had 
ever  beheld.  Her  morning's  work  on  the  moors 
had  made  her  look  like  young  Nature's  self,  her 
cheek  was  burnt  rich-brown  and  crimson,  her  dis 
ordered  hair  twined  in  big  rough  rings  about  her 


172       HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

forehead,  her  movements  were  as  light,  atert,  and 
perfect  as  if  she  had  been  a  deer  or  any  wild  thing 
of  the  woods  or  fields.  There  was  that  about  her 
that  made  Roxholm  feel  that  she  must  exhale  in 
breath  and  hair  and  garments  the  scent  of  gorse 
and  heather  and- fern  and  summer  rains. 

As  one  man  gazed  at  her  so  did  the  others, 
though  they  were  his  elders  and  saw  her  often, 
while  he  was  but  twenty-eight  and  had  beheld  her 
but  once  before. 

Each  man  of  the  party  took  from  his  pouch  a 
small  but  well-filled  packet  of  food  and  a  flask, 
and  fell  to  upon  their  contents  voraciously,  talk 
ing  as  they  worked  their  jaws  and  joking  with 
Mistress  Clo.  She  also  brought  forth  her  own 
package,  which  held  bread  and  meat,  and  a  big 
russet  apple,  upon  she  set  with  a  fine  appetite. 
'Twas  good  even  to  see  her  eat,  she  did  it  with 
such  healthy  pleasure,  as  a  young  horse  might 
have  taken  his  oats  or  a  young  setter  his  supper 
after  a  day  in  the  cover. 

"  Thou'rt  not  tired,  Clo ! "  cries  Eldershawe, 
laughing,  as  she  fell  upon  her  russet  apple,  biting 
into  it  crisply,  and  plainly  with  the  pleasure  of  a 
hungry  child. 

"  Not  I,  good  Lord  !  "  she  answered.  "  Could 
shoot  over  as  many  miles  again." 

"  When  thou'rt  fifty  years  older,  wilt  not  be  so 
limber  and  have  such  muscles,"  said  Sir  Jeoffry. 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE       173 

"  She  hath  not  so  long  to  wait/'  said  the  third 
man,  grinning.  "  Wast  not  fourteen  in  November, 
Clo  ?  Wilt  soon  be  a  woman." 

She  bit  deep  into  her  fruit  and  stared  out  over 
the  moors  below. 

"  Am  not  going  to  be  a  woman,"  she  said.  "  I 
hate  them." 

"  They  hate  thee,"  said  Eldershawe,  with  a 
chuckle,  "  and  will  hate  thee  worse  when  thou 
wearest  brocades  and  a  farthingale." 

"  I  have  watched  them,"  proceeded  Mistress 
Clo.  "  They  cannot  keep  their  mouths  shut.  If 
they  have  a  secret  they  must  tell  it,  whether 
'tis  their  own  or  another's.  They  clack,  they  tell 
lies,  they  cry  and  scream  out  if  they  are  hurt ;  but 
they  will  hurt  anything  which  cannot  hurt  them 
back.  They  run  and  weep  to  each  other  when 
they  are  in  love  and  a  man  slights  them.  They 
have  no  spirit  and  no  decency."  She  said  it  with 
such  an  earnest  solemness  that  her  companions 
shouted  with  laughter. 

"  She  sits  in  her  breeches — the  unruliest  bag 
gage  in  Gloucestershire,"  cried  Eldershawe,  "  and 
complains  that  fine  ladies  are  not  decent.  What 
would  they  say  if  they  heard  thee  ?  " 

"  They  may  hear  me  when  they  will,"  said  Mis 
tress  Clo,  springing  to  her  feet  with  a  light  jump 
and  sending  the  last  of  her  apple  whizzing  into 
space  with  a  boyish  throw.  "  'Tis  I  who  am  the 


174      HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

modest  woman — for  all  my  breeches  and  man 
ners.  I  do  not  see  indecency  where  there  is  none 
— for  the  mere  pleasure  of  ogling  and  bridling 
and  calling  attention  to  my  simpering.  I  should 
have  seen  no  reason  for  airs  and  graces  if  I  had 
been  among  those  on  the  bank  when  the  fine 
young  Marquess  we  heard  of  saved  the  boat-load 
on  the  river  and  gave  orders  for  the  reviving  of 
the  drowned  man — in  his  wet  skin.  When  'tis 
spoke  of — for  'tis  a  favourite  story — that  little 
beast  Tantillion  hides  her  face  behind  her  fan  and 
cries,  '  Oh,  Lud!  thank  Heaven  I  was  not  near.  I 
should  have  swooned  away  at  the  very  sight.'" 

She  imitated  the  affected  simper  of  a  girl  in 
such  a  manner  that  the  three  sportsmen  yelled 
with  delight,  and  Roxholm  himself  gnawed  his 
lip  to  check  an  involuntary  break  into  laughter. 

"  What  didst  say  to  her  the  day  she  bridled 
over  it  at  Knepton,  when  the  young  heir  was 
there  ?  "  said  Crowell,  grinning.  "  I  was  told  thou 
disgraced  thyself,  Clo.  What  saidst  thou?" 

She  was  standing  her  full  straight  height 
among  them  and  turned,  with  her  hands  in  her 
pockets  and  a  grave  face. 

"  My  blood  was  hot,"  she  answered.  "  I  said, 
'  Damn  thee  for  a  lying  little  fool ! '  That  thou 
wouldst  not ! " 

And  the  men  who  lay  on  the  ground  roared 
till  they  rolled  there,  and  Roxholm  gnawed  his 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE       175 

lip  again,  though  not  all  from  mirth,  for  there 
was  in  his  mind  another  thing.  She  did  not 
laugh  but  stood  in  the  same  position,  but  now 
looking  out  across  the  country  spread  below. 

"  I  shall  love  no  man  who  will  scorn  me,"  she 
continued  in  her  mellow  voice ;  "  but  if  I  did  I 
would  be  burned  alive  at  the  stake  before  I  would 
open  my  lips  about  it.  And  I  would  be  burned 
alive  at  the  stake  before  I  would  play  tricks  with 
my  word  or  break  my  promise  when  'twas  given. 
Women  think  they  can  swear  a  thing  and  un- 
swear  it,  to  save  or  please  themselves.  They 
give  themselves  to  a  man  and  then  repent  it  and 
are  slippery.  If  I  had  given  myself,  and  found  I 
had  been  a  fool,  I  would  keep  faith.  I  would  play 
no  tricks — even  though  I  learned  to  hate  him. 
No,  I  will  not  be  a  woman." 

And  she  picked  up  her  gun  and  strode  away, 
and  seeing  this  they  rose  all  three  by  one  accord, 
as  if  she  were  their  chieftain,  and  followed  her. 

After  they  were  gone  my  lord  Marquess  did 
not  move  for  some  time,  but  lay  still  among  the 
gorse  and  bracken  at  his  full  length,  his  hands 
clasped  behind  his  head.  He  gazed  up  into  the 
grey  sky  with  the  look  of  a  man  whose  thoughts 
are  deep  and  strange.  But  at  last  he  rose,  and 
picking  up  his  gun,  shouldered  it  and  strode  forth 
on  his  way  back  to  Dunstan's  Wolde,  which  was 
miles  away. 


176      HIS  GRACE   OF  OSMONDE 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  speaking  aloud  to  hirrfself,  "  I 
will  go  back  and  follow  his  Grace  of  Maryborough 
for  a  while  on  his  campaign — but  in  two  years* 
time  I  will  come  back — to  Gloucestershire — and 
see  what  time  has  wrought." 

But  to  Flanders  he  did  not  go,  nor  did  my  Lord 
Duke  of  Marlborough  see  him  for  many  a  day,  for 
Fate,  which  had  so  long  steadily  driven  him,  had 
ordained  it  otherwise.  When  he  reached  Dun- 
stan's  Wolde,  on  crossing  the  threshold,  some 
thing  in  the  faces  of  the  lacqueys  about  the  en 
trance  curiously  attracted  his  attention.  He 
thought  each  man  he  glanced  at  or  spoke  to  looked 
agitated  and  as  if  there  were  that  on  his  mind 
which  so  scattered  his  wits  that  he  scarce  knew 
how  to  choose  his  speech.  The  younger  ones 
stammered  and,  trying  to  avoid  his  eye,  seemed  to 
step  out  of  his  view  as  hastily  as  possible.  Those 
of  maturer  years  wore  grave  and  sorrowful  faces, 
and  when,  on  passing  through  the  great  hall  upon 
which  opened  the  library  and  drawing-rooms  he 
encountered  the  head  butler,  the  man  started  back 
and  actually  turned  pale. 

"What  has  happened?"  his  lordship  demand 
ed,  his  wonder  verging  in  alarm.     "Something 
has  come  about,  surely.     What  is  it,  man?     Tell 
me !     My  Lord  Dunstanwolde— 
-  The   man    was   not   one  whose   brain   worked 


HIS   GRACE  OF  OSMONDE       177 

quickly.  'Twas  plain  he  lost  his  wits,  being  dis 
tressed  for  some  reason  beyond  measure.  He 
stepped  to  the  door  of  the  library  and  threw  it 
open. 

"  My — my  lord  awaits  your — your  lordship — 
Grace,"  and  then  in  an  uncertain  and  low  voice  he 
announced  him  in  the  following  strange  manner: 

"  His — lordship — his  Grace — has  returned,  my 
lord,"  he  said. 

And  Roxholm,  suddenly  turning  cold  and  pale 
himself,  and  seized  upon  by  a  horror  of  he  knew 
not  what,  saw  as  in  a  dream  my  lord  Dunstan- 
wolde  advancing  towards  him,  his  face  ashen  with 
woe,  tears  on  his  cheeks,  his  shaking  hands  out 
stretched  as  if  in  awful  pity. 

"  My  poor  Gerald,"  he  broke  forth,  one  hand 
grasping  his,  one  laid  on  his  shoulder.  "  My  poor 
lad — God  help  me — that  I  am  no  more  fit  to  break 
to  you  this  awful  news." 

"  For  God's  sake ! "  cried  Gerald,  and  sank  into 
the  chair  my  lord  drew  him  to,  where  he  sat  him 
self  down  beside  him,  the  tears  rolling  down  his 
lined  cheeks. 

"  Both — both  your  parents ! "  he  cried.  "  God 
give  me  words !  Both — both  !  At  Pisa  where 
they  had  stopped — a  malignant  fever.  Your 
mother  first  —  and  within  twelve  hours  your 
father!  Praise  Heaven  they  were  not  parted. 
Gerald,  my  boy  !  " 

12 


178       HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

My  lord  Marquess  leaned  forward,  his  elbow 
sank  on  his  knee,  his  forehead  fell  heavily  upon 
his  palm  and  rested  there.  He  felt  as  if  a  blow 
had  been  struck  upon  his  head,  which  he  moved 
slowly,  seeing  nothing  before  him. 

"Both!  Both!"  he  murmured.  "  The  happiest 
woman  in  England  !  Have  you  been  happy  ?  I 
would  hear  you  say  it  again — before  I  leave  you  ! 
Ay,"  shaking  his  head,  "that  was  why  the  poor 
fool  said,  *  Your  Grace.'  " 


CHAPTER  XIV 
"For  all  her  youth— there  is  no  other  woman  like  her  " 

THEY  were  brought  back  in  state  from  Italy  and 
borne  to  their  beloved  Camylott,  to  sleep  in  peace 
there,  side  by  side ;  and  the  bells  in  the  church- 
tower  tolled  long  and  mournfully,  and  in  the  five 
villages  in  different  shires  there  was  not  a  heart 
which  did  not  ache — nor  one  which  having  faith 
did  not  know  that  somewhere  their  happy  love 
lived  again  and  was  more  full  of  joy  than  it  had 
been  before.  And  my  lord  Marquess  was  my  lord 
Duke  ;  but  for  many  months  none  beheld  him  but 
Lord  Dunstanwoldc,  who  came  to  Camylott  with 
many  great  people  to  attend  the  funeral  obsequies; 
but  when  all  the  rest  went  away  he  stayed,  and 
through  the  first  strange  black  weeks  the  two 
were  nearly  always  together,  and  often,  through 
hours,  walked  in  company  from  one  end  of  the 
Long  Gallery  to  the  other. 

Over  such  periods  of  sorrow  and  bereavement 
it  is  well  to  pass  gently,  since  they  must  come  to 
all,  and  have  so  come  through  all  the  ages  past,  to 
every  human  being  who  has  lived  to  maturity ; 
and  yet,  at  the  same  time,  there  is  none  can  speak 

truly  for  another  than  himself  of  what  the  suffer- 

179 


i8o      HIS   GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

ing  has  been  or  how  it  has  been  borne.  .  None  but 
the  one  who  bears  it  can  know  what  hours  of  an 
guish  the  endurance  cost  and  how  'twas  reached. 

My  lord  Duke  looked  pale  in  his  mourning  gar 
ments,  and  for  many  months  his  countenance 
seemed  sharper  cut,  his  eyes  looking  deeper  set 
and  larger,  having  faint  shadows  round  them,  but 
even  Lord  Dunstanwolde  knew  but  few  of  his  in 
most  thoughts,  and  to  others  he  never  spoke  of 
his  bereavement. 

The  taking  possession  of  a  great  estate,  and 
the  first  assuming  of  the  responsibilities  attached 
to  it,  are  no  small  events,  and  bring  upon  the  man 
left  sole  heir  numberless  new  duties,  therefore 
the  new  Duke  had  many  occupations  to  attend 
to — much  counselling  with  his  legal  advisers, 
many  interviews  with  stewards,  bailiffs,  and  hold 
ers  of  his  lands,  visits  to  one  estate  after  another, 
and  converse  with  the  reverend  gentlemen  who 
were  the  spiritual  directors  of  his  people.  Such 
duties  gave  him  less  time  for  brooding  than  he 
would  have  had  upon  his  hands  had  he  been  a 
man  more  thoughtless  of  what  his  responsibilities 
implied,  and,  consequently,  more  willing  to  per 
mit  them  to  devolve  upon  those  in  his  employ. 

"  A  man  should  himself  know  all  things  pertain 
ing  to  his  belongings,"  the  new  Duke  said  to 
Lord  Dunstanwolde,  "and  all  those  who  serve 
him  should  be  aware  that  he  knows,  and  that  he 


HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE       181 

will  no  more  allow  his  dependents  to  cheat  or 
slight  him  than  he  himself  will  stoop  to  careless 
ness  or  dishonesty  in  his  dealings  with  them 
selves.  To  govern  well,  a  man  must  be  ruler  as 
well  as  friend." 

And  this  he  was  to  every  man  in  his  five  vil 
lages,  and  those  who  had  worshipped  him  as 
their  master's  heir  loved  and  revered  him  as  their 
master. 

The  great  Marlborough  wrote  a  friendly  letter 
expressing  his  sympathy  for  him  in  the  calamity 
by  which  he  had  been  overtaken,  and  also  his  re 
gret  at  the  loss  of  his  services  and  companionship, 
he  having  at  once  resigned  his  commission  in  the 
army  on  the  occurrence  of  his  bereavement,  not 
only  feeling  desirous  of  remaining  in  England, 
but  finding  it  necessary  to  do  so. 

He  spent  part  of  the  year  upon  his  various  es 
tates  in  the  country,  but  quarrels  of  Whigs  and 
Tories,  changes  in  the  Cabinet,  and  the  bitter  feel 
ing  against  the  march  into  Germany  and  the 
struggles  which  promised  to  result,  gave  him 
work  to  do  in  London  and  opportunities  for  the 
development  of  those  abilities  his  Grace  of  Marl- 
borough  had  marked  in  him.  The  air  on  all  sides 
was  heavy  with  storm — at  Court  the  enemies  of 
Duchess  Sarah  (and  they  were  many,  whether 
they  confessed  themselves  or  not)  were  prognos 
ticating  her  fall  from  her  high  post  of  ruler  of  the 


182      HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

Queen  of  England,  and  her  lord  from  his  pin 
nacle  of  fame  ;  there  were  high  Tories  and  Jacob 
ites  who  did  not  fear  to  speak  of  the  scaffold  as 
the  last  stage  likely  to  be  reached  by  the  greatest 
military  commander  the  country  had  ever  known 
in  case  his  march  into  Germany  ended  in  disas 
ter.  There  were  indeed  questions  so  momentous 
to  be  pondered  over  that  for  long  months  my  lord 
Duke  had  but  little  time  for  reflection  upon  those 
incidents  which  had  disturbed  him  by  appearing 
to  result  from  the  workings  of  persistent  Fate. 

But  in  a  locked  cabinet  in  his  private  closet 
there  lay  a  picture  which  sometimes,  as  it  were, 
despite  himself,  he  took  from  its  hiding-place  to 
look  upon ;  and  when  he  found  himself  gazing  at 
the  wondrous  face  of  storm,  with  its  great  stag's 
eyes,  he  knew  that  the  mere  sight  waked  in  him 
the  old  tumult  and  that  it  did  not  lose  its  first 
strange,  unexplained  power.  And  once  sitting 
studying  the  picture,  his  thought  uttered  itself 
aloud,  his  voice  curiously  breaking  upon  the  still 
ness  of  the  room. 

"  It  is,"  he  said,  "  as  if  that  first  hour  a  deep 
chord  of  music  had  been  struck — a  stormy  minor 
chord — and  each  time  I  hear  of  her  or  see  her  the 
same  chord  is  struck  loud  again,  and  never  varies 
by  a  note.  I  swear  there  is  a  question  in  her  eyes 
— and  I — I  could  answer  it.  Yet,  for  my  soul's 
sake,  I  must  keep  away." 


HIS   GRACE   OF  OSMONDE       183 

He  knew  honour  itself  demanded  this  of  him, 
for  the  stories  which  came  to  his  ears  were  each 
wilder  and  more  fantastic  than  the  other,  and 
sometimes  spoke  strange  evil  of  her — of  her  vio 
lent  temper,  of  her  wicked  tongue,  of  her  outrag 
ing  of  all  customs  and 'decencies,  but,  almost  in 
credible  as  it  seemed,  none  had  yet  proved  that 
her  high  spirit  and  proud  heart  had  been  sub 
jugated  and  she  made  victim  by  a  conqueror. 
'Twas  this  which  was  talked  of  at  the  clubs  and 
coffee-houses,  where  her  name  was  known  by 
those  frequenting  them. 

"  She  would  be  like  a  hare  let  loose  to  be 
hounded  to  her  death  by  every  pack  in  the 
county,"  my  Lord  Twemlow  had  said  the  night 
he  talked  of  her  at  Dunstan's  Wolde,  and  every 
man  agreed  with  him  and  waited  for  the  outburst 
of  a  scandal,  and  made  bets  as  to  when  it  would 
break  forth.  There  were  those  among  the  suc 
cessful  heart-breakers  whose  vanity  was  piqued 
by  the  existence  of  so  invincible  and  fantastical  a 
female  creature,  and  though  my  lord  Duke  did 
not  hear  of  it,  their  worlds  being  far  apart,  the 
male  beauty  and  rake,  Sir  John  Oxon,  was  among 
them,  his  fretted  pride  being  so  well  known 
among  his  fellow-beaux  that  'twas  their  habit  to 
make  a  joke  of  it  and  taunt  him  with  their  witti 
cisms. 

"  She  is  too  big  a  devil,"  they  said,  "  to  care  a 


184      HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

fig  for  any  man.  She  would  laugh  in  the  face  of 
the  mightiest  lady-killer  in  London,  and  flout  him 
as  if  he  were  a  mercer's  apprentice  or  a  plough- 
boy.  He  does  not  live  who  could  trap  her." 

With  most  of  them,  the  noble  sport  of  chasing 
women  was  their  most  exalted  pastime.  They 
were  like  hunters  on  the  chase  of  birds,  the  man 
who  brought  down  the  rarest  creature  of  the 
wildest  spirit  and  the  brightest  plumage  was  the 
man  who  was  a  hero  for  a  day  at  least. 

The  winter  my  lord  Duke  of  Marlborough  spent 
at  Hanover,  Berlin,  Vienna,  and  the  Hague,  en 
gaged  in  negotiations  and  preparations  for  his 
campaign,  and  at  Vienna  his  Grace  of  Osmonde 
joined  him  that  they  might  talk  face  to  face,  even 
the  great  warrior's  composure  being  shaken  by 
the  disappointment  of  the  year.  But  a  fortnight 
before  his  leaving  England  there  came  to  Os- 
monde's  ear  rumours  of  a  story  from  Gloucester 
shire — 'twas  of  a  nature  more  fantastic  than  any 
other,  and  far  more  unexpected.  The  story  was 
imperfectly  told  and  without  detail,  and  detail 
no  man  or  woman  seemed  able  to  acquire,  and 
baffled  curiosity  ran  wild,  no  story  having  so 
whetted  it  as  this  last. 

"  But  we  shall  hear  later,"  said  one,  "  for  'tis 
said  Jack  Oxon  was  there,  being  on  a  visit  to  his 
kinsman,  Lord  Eldershawe,  who  has  been  the 
young  lady's  playmate  from  her  childhood.  Jack 


HIS  GRACE  OF   OSMONDE       185 

will  come  back  primed  and  will  strut  about  for  a 
week  and  boast  of  his  fortunes  whether  he  can 
prove  them  or  not." 

But  this  Osmonde  did  not  hear,  having  already 
left  town  for  a  few  days  at  Camylott,  where  my 
Lord  Dunstanwolde  accompanied  him,  and  at  the 
week's  end  they  went  together  to  Warwickshire, 
and  as  on  the  occasion  of  Osmonde's  other  visit, 
the  first  evening  they  were  at  the  Wolde  came 
my  Lord  Twemlow,  more  excited  than  ever  be 
fore,  and  he  knew  and  told  the  whole  story. 

"  Things  have  gone  from  bad  to  worse,"  he 
said,  "  and  at  last  I  sent  my  Chaplain  as  I  had 
planned,  and  the  man  came  back  frightened  out 
of  his  wits,  having  reached  the  hall-door  in  a  panic 
and  there  found  himself  confronted  by  what  he 
took  to  be  a  fine  lad  in  hunting-dress  making  his 
dog  practise  jumping  tricks.  And  'twas  no  lad, 
of  course,  but  my  fine  mistress  in  her  boy's 
clothes,  and  she  takes  him  to  her  father  and 
makes  a  saucy  jest  of  the  whole  matter,  tossing 
off  a  tankard  of  ale  as  she  sits  on  the  table  laugh 
ing  at  him  and  keeping  Sir  Jeoffry  from  break 
ing  his  head  in  a  rage.  And  in  the  end  she  sends 
an  impudent  message  to  me — but  says  I  am  right, 
the  shrewd  young  jade,  and  that  she  will  see  that 
no  disgrace  befalls  me.  But  for  all  that,  the  Chap 
lain  came  home  in  a  cold  sweat,  poor  fool,  and 
knows  not  what  to  say  when  he  speaks  of  her." 


i86       HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

"And  then?"  said  my  Lord  Dunstanwolde, 
somewhat  anxiously,  "  is  it  true — that  which  we 
heard  rumoured  in  town " 

Lord  Twemlow  shook  his  head  ruefully. 
"  Heaven  knows  how  it  will  end,"  he  said,  "  or  if 
it  is  but  a  new  impudent  prank — or  what  she  will 
do  next — but  the  whole  country  is  agog  with  the 
story.  She  bade  her  father  invite  his  rapscallion 
crew  to  her  birthnight  supper,  and  says  'tis  that 
they  may  see  her  in  breeches  for  the  last  time, 
for  she  will  wear  them  no  more,  but  begin  to  live 
a  sober,  godly,  and  virtuous  life  and  keep  a  Chap 
lain  of  her  own.  And  on  the  twenty-fourth  night 
of  November,  she  turning  fifteen,  they  gather 
prepared  for  sport,  and  find  her  attired  like  a 
young  prince,  in  pink  satin  coat  and  lace  ruffles 
and  diamond  buckles  and  powder ;  more  impu 
dent  and  handsome  than  since  she  was  born.  And 
when  the  drinking  sets  in  heavily,  upon  her  chair 
she  springs  and  stands  laughing  at  the  company 
of  them. 

" '  Look  your  last  on  my  fine  shape/  she  cries, 
'  for  after  to-night  you'll  see  no  more  of  it.  From 
this  I  am  a  fine  lady/  and  sings  a  song  and  drinks 
a  toast  and  breaks  her  glass  on  the  floor  and  runs 
away." 

At  a  certain  period  of  my  Lord  Twemlow's 
first  story,  the  night  he  told  it,  both  his  Lordship 
of  Dunstanwolde  and  the  then  Marquess  of  Rox- 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE       187 

holm  had  made  unconscious  movements  as  they 
heard — this  had  happened  when  had  been  de 
scribed  the  falling  of  the  mantle  of  black  hair  and 
the  little  oaths  with  which  Mistress  Clorinda  had 
sat  on  her  hunter  binding  it  up— and  at  this 
point — at  this  other  picture  of  the  audacious 
beauty  and  her  broken  glass  each  man  almost 
started  again — my  Lord  Dunstanwolde  indeed 
suddenly  rising  and  taking  a  step  across  the 
hearth. 

"  What  a  story,"  he  said.     "  On  my  soul !  " 

"And  'tis  not  the  end!"  cried  Lord  Twemlow. 
"  An  hour  she  leaves  them  talking  of  her,  wonder 
ing  what  she  plans  to  do,  and  then  the  door  is 
flung  wide  open  and  there  she  stands — splendid 
in  crimson  and  silver  and  jewels,  with  a  diadem 
on  her  head,  and  servants  holding  lights  flaming 
above  her." 

My  Lord  Dunstanwolde  turned  about  and 
looked  at  him  as  if  the  movement  was  involun 
tary,  and  Lord  Twemlow  ended  with  a  blow  upon 
the  table,  his  elderly  face  aflame  with  apprecia 
tion  of  the  dramatic  thing  he  told. 

"  And  makes  them  a  great  Court  courtesy,"  he 
cried,  his  voice  growing  almost  shrill,  "  and  calls 
on  them  all  to  fall  upon  their  knees,  by  God !  '  for 
so,'  she  says, '  from  this  night  all  men  shall  kneel — 
all  men  on  whom  I  deign  to  cast  my  eyes/  " 

His  Grace  the  Duke  of  Osmonde  had  listened 


i88      HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

silently,  and  throughout  with  an  impenetrable 
face,  but  at  this  moment  he  put  up  his  hand  and 
slightly  swept  his  brow  with  his  fingers,  as  if  he 
felt  it  damp. 

"And  now  what  does  it  mean?"  my  Lord 
Twemlow  asked  them,  with  an  anxious  face. 
"  And  how  will  it  end  ?  A  fortnight  later  she  ap 
peared  at  church  dressed  like  a  lady  of  the  Court, 
and  attended  by  her  sisters  and  their  governess,  as 
if  she  had  never  appeared  unattended  in  her  life, 
and  prayed,  good  Lord,  with  such  a  majestic  seri 
ousness,  and  listened  to  the  sermon  with  such  a 
face  as  made  the  parson  forget  his  text  and  fum 
ble  about  for  his  notes  in  dire  confusion.  'Twas 
thought  she  might  be  going  to  play  some  trick 
to  cause  him  to  break  down  in  the  midst  of  his 
discourse.  But  she  did  not,  and  sailed  out  of 
church  as  if  she  had  never  missed  a  sermon  since 
she  was  born." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  my  Lord  Dunstanwolde,  "  per 
haps  her  mind  has  changed  and  'tis  true  she  in 
tends  to  live  more  gravely." 

"  Nay,"  answered  Lord  Twemlow,  with  a 
troubled  countenance.  "  No  such  good  fortune. 
She  doth  not  intend  to  keep  it  up — and  how 
could  she  if  she  would  ?  A  girl  who  hath  lived 
as  she  hath,  seeing  no  decent  company  and  with 
not  a  woman  about  her — though  for  that  matter 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      189 

they  say  she  has  the  eye  of  a  hawk  and  the  wit  of 
a  dozen  women,  and  the  will  to  do  aught  she 
chooses.  But  surely  she  could  not  keep  it  up  !  " 

"Another  woman  could  not,"  said  Osmonde. 
"  A  woman  who  had  not  a  clear,  strong  brain  and 
a  wondrous  determination — a  woman  who  was 
weak  or  a  fool,  or  even  as  other  women,  could 
not.  But  surely — for  all  her  youth — there  is  no 
other  woman  like  her." 


CHAPTER 

"And 'twas  the  town  rake  and  beauty — Sir  John  Oxon" 

THAT  night  he  lay  almost  till  'twas  morning,  his 
eyes  open  upon  the  darkness,  since  he  could  not 
sleep,  finding  it  impossible  to  control  the  thoughts 
which  filled  his  mind.  'Twas  a  night  whose  still 
long  hours  he  never  could  forget  in  the  years  that 
followed,  and  'twas  not  a  memory  which  was  a 
happy  one.  He  passed  through  many  a  curious 
phase  of  thought,  and  more  than  once  felt  a  pang 
of  sorrow  that  he  was  now  alone  as  he  had  never 
thought  of  being,  and  that  if  suffering  came,  his 
silent  endurance  of  it  must  be  a  new  thing.  To  be 
silent  because  one  does  not  wish  to  speak  is  a  dif 
ferent  matter  from  being  silent  because  one  knows 
no  creature  dear  and  near  enough  to  hear  the 
story  of  one's  trouble.  He  realised  now  that  the 
tender  violet  eyes  which  death  had  closed  would 
have  wooed  from  his  reserve  many  a  thing  it 
might  have  been  good  to  utter  in  words. 

"  She  would  always  have  understood,"  he 
thought.  "  She  understood  when  she  cried  out, 
'  It  might  have  been  ! ' " 

He  clasped  his  hands  behind  his  head  and  lay 
so,  smiling  with  mingled  bitterness  and  joy. 

190 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE       191 

"  It  has  begun  !  "  he  said.  "  I  have  heard  them 
tell  of  it — of  how  one  woman's  face  came  back 
again  and  again,  of  how  one  pair  of  eyes  would 
look  into  a  man's  and  would  not  leave  him,  nor 
let  him  rest.  It  has  begun  for  me,  too.  For  good 
or  evil,  it  has  begun." 

Until  this  night  he  had  told  himself,  and  believed 
himself  in  the  telling,  that  he  had  been  strangely 
haunted  by  thoughts  of  a  strange  creature,  be 
cause  the  circumstances  by  which  she  was  encom 
passed  were  so  unusual  and  romantic  as  would 
have  lingered  in  the  mind  of  any  man  whether  old 
or  young  ;  and  this  he  had  been  led  to  feel  the 
more  confident  of,  since  he  was  but  one  of  a  dozen 
men,  and  indeed  each  one  who  knew  of  her  exist 
ence  appeared  to  regard  her  as  the  heroine  of  a 
play,  though  so  far  it  was  to  them  but  a  rattling 
comedy.  But  from  this  night  he  knew  a  different 
thing,  and  realised  that  he  was  face  to  face  with 
that  mystery  which  all  men  do  not  encounter, 
some  only  meeting  with  the  mere  fleeting  image 
of  it  and  never  knowing  what  the  reality  is — that 
mystery  which  may  be  man's  damnation  or  his 
heaven,  his  torture  and  heart-sickening,  or  his  life 
and  strength  and  bliss.  What  his  would  bring  to 
him,  or  bring  him  to,  he  knew  not  in  the  least,  and 
had  at  times  a  pang  at  thought  of  it,  but  some 
times  such  a  surge  of  joy  as  made  him  feel  himself 
twice  man  instead  of  once. 


192      HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

When  he  went  forth  to  ride  the  next  da'y  it  was 
with  a  purpose  clear  in  his  mind.  Hitherto  all  he 
had  seen  or  heard  had  been  by  chance,  but  if  he 
saw  aught  this  morning  'twould  be  because  he  had 
hoped  for  and  gone  to  meet  it. 

"  Before  I  cross  the  sea,"  was  his  thought,  "  I 
would  see  her  once  again  if  chance  so  favors  me. 
I  would  see  if  there  seems  any  new  thing  in  her 
face,  and  if  there  is — if  this  is  no  wild  jest  and 
comedy,  but  means  that  she  has  wakened  to  know 
ing  herself  a  woman — I  shall  know  when  I  see  her 
eyes  and  can  carry  my  thought  away  with  me. 
Then  when  I  come  back — 'twill  be  but  a  few 
months  at  the  most — I  will  ride  into  Gloucester 
shire  the  first  week  I  am  on  English  soil,  and  I 
will  go  to  her  and  ask  that  I  may  be  her  servant 
until  she  learns  what  manner  of  man  I  am  and  can 
tell  me  to  go — or  stay." 

If  Sir  Jeoffry  and  his  crew  had  dreamed  that 
such  a  thought  worked  in  the  mind  of  one  of  the 
richest  young  noblemen  in  England — he  a  Duke 
and  handsome  enough  to  set  any  woman's  heart 
beating — as  he  rode  through  the  Gloucestershire 
lanes  ;  if  they  had  dreamed  that  such  a  thing  was 
within  the  bounds  of  human  possibility,  what  a 
tumult  would  have  been  roused  among  them; 
how  they  would  have  stared  at  each  other,  with 
mouths  open,  uttering  exclamatory  oaths  of  wild 
amazement  and  ecstatic  triumph ;  how  they  would 


HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE       193 

have  exulted  and  drunk  each  other's  healths  and 
their  wild  playmate's  and  her  splendid  fortunes. 
But,  in  truth,  that  such  a  thing  could  be,  would 
have  seemed  to  them  as  likely  as  that  Queen  Anne 
herself  should  cast  a  gracious  eye  upon  a  poor, 
fox-hunting,  country  baronet  who  was  one  of  her 
rustic  subjects.  The  riot  of  Wildairs  and  its  com 
pany  was  a  far  cry  indeed  from  Camylott  and  St. 
James. 

If  my  Lord  Twemlow  had  guessed  at  the  pos 
sibility  of  the  strange  thing,  and  had  found  him 
self  confronting  a  solution  of  his  carking  problem 
which  would  flood  its  past  with  brilliance  and  il 
luminate  all  its  future  with  refulgent  light,  casting 
a  glow  of  splendour  even  over  his  own  plain 
country  gentleman's  existence,  how  he  would 
have  started  and  flushed  with  bewildered  pride 
and  rubbed  his  periwig  awry  in  his  delighted  ex 
citement.  If  my  Lord  Dunstanwolde,  sitting  at 
that  hour  in  his  silent  library,  a  great  book  open 
before  him,  his  forehead  on  his  slender  veined 
hand,  his  thoughts  wandering  far  away,  if  he  had 
been  given  by  Fate  an  inkling  of  the  truth  which 
none  knew  or  suspected,  or  had  reason  for  sus 
pecting,  perhaps  he  would  have  been  the  most 
startled  and  struck  dumb  of  all — the  most  troubled 
and  amazed  and  shocked. 

But  of  such  a  thing  no  one  dreamed,  as,  indeed, 
why  should  they,  and  my  lord  Duke  of  Osmonde 


194      HIS  GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

rode  over  the  border  into  Gloucestershire  on  his 
fine  beast,  and,  trotting  up  the  roads  and  down  the 
lanes,  wore  a  look  upon  his  face  which  showed 
him  deep  in  thought. 

'Twas  a  grey  day,  unbrightened  by  any  sun. 
For  almost  a  week  there  had  been  rain,  and  the 
roads  were  heavy  and  the  lanes  muddy  and  full 
of  pools  of  miry  water. 

It  was  the  intention  of  my  lord  Duke  to  let  his 
horse  carry  him  over  such  roads  and  lands  as 
would  be  in  the  near  neighbourhood  of  Wildairs, 
and  while  he  recognised  the  similarity  of  his  ac 
tion  to  that  of  a  school-boy  in  love,  who  paces  the 
street  before  his  sweetheart's  dwelling,  there  was 
no  smile  at  himself,  either  on  his  countenance  or 
in  his  mind. 

"  I  may  see  her,"  he  said  quietly  to  himself.  "  I 
am  more  like  to  catch  sight  of  her  on  these  roads 
than  on  any  other,  and,  school-boy  trick  or  not, 
'twill  serve,  and  if  she  passes  will  have  won  me 
what  I  long  for — for  it  is  longing,  this.  I  know  it 
now,  and  own  it  to  myself." 

And  see  her  he  did,  but  as  is  ever  the  case 
when  a  man  has  planned  a  thing,  it  befell  as  he 
had  not  thought  of  its  happening — and  'twas  over 
in  a  flash. 

Down  one  of  the  wet  lanes  he  had  turned  and 
was  riding  slowly  when  he  heard  suddenly  behind 
him  a  horse  coming  at  such  a  sharp  gallop  that  he 


HIS  GRACE  OF   OSMONDE       195 

wheeled  his  own  beast  aside,  the  way  being  dan 
gerously  narrow,  that  so  tempestuous  a  rider 
might  tear  by  in  safety.  And  as  he  turned  and  was 
half  screened  by  the  bushes  past  him,  the  rider 
swept  splashing  through  the  mire  and  rain-pools 
so  that  the  muddy  water  flew  up  beneath  the 
horses'  hoofs — and  'twas  the  object  of  his  thoughts 
herself ! 

She  rode  her  tall  young  horse  and  was  not  clad 
as  he  had  before  beheld  her,  but  in  rich  riding-coat 
and  hat  and  sweeping  feather.  No  maid  of  hon 
our  of  her  Majesty  Queen  Anne's  rode  attired 
more  fittingly,  none  certainly  with  such  a  seat 
and  spirit,  and  none,  Heaven  knew,  looked  like 
her. 

These  things  he  marked  in  a  flash,  not  knowing 
he  had  marked  them  until  afterwards,  so  strong 
and  moving  was  his  sudden  feeling  that  in  her 
nature  at  that  moment  there  worked  some  strange 
new  thing — some  mood  new  to  herself  and  anger 
ing  her.  Her  brows  were  bent,  her  eyes  were 
set  and  black  with  shadow.  She  bit  her  full  lip 
as  she  rode,  and  her  horse  went  like  the  wind. 
For  but  a  moment  she  was  through  the  lane  and 
clattering  on  the  road. 

My  lord  Duke  was  breathing  fast  and  bit  his 
own  lip,  but  the  next  second  broke  into  a  laugh, 
turning  his  horse,  whose  bridle  he  had  caught  up 
with  a  sudden  gesture. 


196      HIS   GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

"  Nay,"  he  said,  "  a  man  cannot  gallop  after  a 
lady  without  ceremony,  and  command  her  to 
stand  and  deliver  as  if  he  were  a  highwayman. 
Yet  I  was  within  an  ace  of  doing  it — within  an 
ace.  I  have  beheld  her !  I  had  best  ride  back  to 
Dunstan's  Wolde." 

And  so  he  did,  at  a  hot  pace  ;  but  if  he  had 
chanced  to  turn  on  the  top  of  the  hill  he  might 
have  seen  below  him  in  a  lane  to  the  right  that 
two  rode  together,  and  one  was  she  whom  he  had 
but  just  seen,  her  companion  a  horseman  who 
had  leapt  a  gate  in  a  field  and  joined  her,  with 
flushed  cheeks  and  wooing  eyes,  though  she  had 
frowned — and  'twas  the  town  rake  and  beauty,  Sir 
John  Oxon. 


CHAPTER  XVI 
A  Rumour 

THROUGH  the  passing  of  two  years  Osmonde's 
foot  did  not  press  English  soil  again,  and  his  ex 
istence  during  that  period  was  more  vivid  and 
changeful  than  it  had  ever  been  before.  He  saw 
Ramillies  follow  Blenheim,  great  Marlborough 
attain  the  height  of  renown,  and  French  Louis's 
arrogant  ambitions  end  in  downfall  and  defeat. 
Life  in  both  camp  and  Court  he  knew  at  its  highest 
tension,  brilliant  scenes  he  beheld,  strange  ones, 
wicked  ones,  and  lived  a  life  so  eventful  and  full  of 
motion  and  excitement  that  there  were  few  men 
who  through  its  picturesque  adventures  would 
have  been  like  to  hold  in  mind  one  image  and  one 
thought.  Yet  this  he  did,  telling  himself  that 
'twas  the  thought  which  held  him,  not  he  the 
thought,  it  having  been  proven  in  the  past  'twas 
one  which  would  not  have  released  him  from  its 
dominion  even  had  he  been  inclined  to  withdraw 
himself  from  it.  And  this  he  was  not.  Nature 
had  so  built  him,  that  on  the  day  when  he  had 
found  himself  saying,  "  In  two  years'  time  I  will 
come  back  to  Gloucestershire  and  see  what  time 
has  wrought,"  he  had  reached  a  point  from  which 

197 


198      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

there  was  no  retreating.  Through  many  an  hour 
in  time  past  there  had  been  turmoil  in  his  mind, 
but  in  a  measure,  at  least,  this  ended  the  uncer 
tainties,  and  was  no  rash  outburst  but  a  resolve. 
It  had  not  been  made  lightly,  but  had  been  like  a 
plant  which  had  grown  from  a  seed,  long  hidden 
in  dark  earth  and  slowly  fructifying  till  at  last 
summer  rain  and  warming  sun  had  caused  it  to 
burst  forth  from  its  prison,  a  thing  promising  full 
fruit  and  flower.  For  long  he  had  not  even 
known  the  seed  was  in  the  soil ;  he  had  felt  its 
Stirrings  before  he  had  believed  in  its  existence, 
and  then  one  day  the  earth  had  broke  and  he  had 
seen  its  life  and  known  what  its  strength  might 
be.  'Twould  be  of  wondrous  strength,  he  knew, 
and  of  wondrous  beauty  if  no  frost  should  blight 
nor  storm  uproot  it. 

In  its  freedom  from  all  tendency  to  plaything- 
sentiments  and  trivial  romances,  his  youth  had 
been  unlike  the  youth  of  other  men.  Being  man 
and  young,  he  had  known  temptation,  but  had 
disdained  it;  being  also  proud  and  perhaps 
haughty  in  his  fastidiousness,  and  being  strong, 
he  had  thrust  base  and  light  things  aside.  He 
had  held  in  his  brain  a  fancy  from  his  boyhood, 
and  singularly  enough  it  had  but  grown  stronger 
and  become  more  fully  formed  with  his  own 
strength  and  increase  of  years.  'Twas  a  strange 
fancy  indeed  to  fit  the  time  he  lived  in,  but  'twas 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE       199 

his  choice.  The  woman  whose  eyes  held  the 
answer  to  the  question  his  own  soul  asked,  and 
whose  being  asked  the  question  to  which  his  own 
replied,  would  bring  great  and  d^ep  joy  to  him — 
others  did  not  count  in  his  existence— and  for  her 
he  had  waited  and  longed,  sometimes  so  fiercely, 
that  he  wondered  if  he  was  in  the  wrong  and  but 
following  a  haunting,  mocking  dream. 

"  You  are  an  epicure,  Osmonde,"  his  Grace  of 
Marlborough  said  more  than  once,  for  he  had 
watched  and  studied  him  closely.  "  Not  an  an 
chorite  but  an  epicure." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Osmonde,  "  perhaps  'tis  that. 
Any  man  can  love  a  score  of  women — most  men 
do — but  there  are  few  who  can  love  but  one,  as  I 
shall,  if—  "  and  the  words  came  slowly — "  if  I  ever 
find  her." 

"  You  may  not,"  remarked  his  Grace. 

"  I  may  not,"  said  Osmonde,  and  he  smiled  his 
faint,  grim  smile. 

He  could  not  have  sworn  when  he  returned  to 
the  Continent  that  he  had  found  her  absolutely  at 
last.  Her  body  he  had  found,  but  herself  he  had 
not  approached  nearly  enough  to  know.  But 
this  thing  he  realised,  that  even  in  the  mad  stories 
he  had  heard,  when  they  had  been  divested  of 
their  madness,  the  chief  figure  in  them  had  always 
stood  out  an  honest,  strong,  fair  thing,  dwarfed 
by  no  petty  feminine  weakness,  nor  follies,  nor 


200      HIS   GRACE   OF  OSMONDE 

spites.  Rules  she  broke,  decorums  she  defied, 
but  in  such  manner  as  hurt  none  but  herself.  She 
played  no  tricks  and  laid  no  plots  for  vengeance, 
as  she  might  well  have  done  ;  she  but  went  her 
daring,  lawless  way,  with  her  head  up  and  her 
great  eyes  wide  open ;  and  'twas  her  fearless 
frankness  and  just,  clear  wit  which  moved  him 
more  than  aught  else,  since  'twas  they  which 
made  him  feel  that  'twas  not  alone  her  splendid 
body  commanded  love,  but  a  spirit  which  might 
mate  with  a  strong  man's  and  be  companion  to 
his  own.  His  theories  of  womankind,  which  were 
indeed  curiously  in  advance  of  his  age,  were  such 
as  demanded  great  things,  and  not  alone  de 
manded,  but  also  gave  them. 

"  A  man  and  woman  should  not  seem  beings  of 
a  different  race — the  one  all  strength,  the  other  all 
weakness,"  was  his  thought.  "  They  should  gaze 
into  each  other's  eyes  with  honest,  tender  human 
passion,  which  is  surely  a  great  thing,  as  nature 
made  it.  Each  should  know  the  other's  love,  and 
strength,  and  honour  may  be  trusted  through 
death — or  life — themselves.  'Tis  not  a  woman's 
love  is  won  by  pretty  gallantries,  nor  a  man's  by 
flattering  weak  surrender.  Love  grows  from  a 
greater  thing,  and  should  be  as  compelling — even 
in  the  higher,  finer  thing  which  thinks — as  is  the 
roar  of  the  lion  in  the  jungle  to  his  mate,  and  her 
glad  cry  which  answers  him." 


HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE      201 

And  therefore,  at  last  he  had  said  to  himself  that 
this  beauteous,  strong,  wild  thing  surely  might  be 
she  who  would  answer  him  one  day,  and  he  held 
his  thoughts  of  her  in  check  no  more,  nor  avoided 
the  speech  he  heard  of  her,  and  indeed,  with  adroit 
ness  which  never  betrayed  itself  through  his  re 
serve  of  bearing,  at  times  encouraged  it;  and  in 
a  locked  drawer  in  his  apartments,  wheresoever 
he  travelled,  there  lay  always  the  picture  with  the 
stormy,  yearning  eyes. 

From  young  Tantillion  he  could,  without  any 
apparent  approach  at  questioning,  hear  such  de 
tails  of  Gloucestershire  life  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  Wildairs  as  made  him  feel  that  he  was  not  far 
separated  from  that  which  his  mind  dwelt  on. 
Little  Lady  Betty,  having  entered  the  world  of 
fashion,  was  more  voluminous  in  her  correspond 
ence  than  ever,  the  more  especially  as  young 
Langton  appeared  to  her  a  very  pretty  fellow,  and 
he  being  Tom's  confidant,  was  likely  to  hear  her 
letters  read,  or  at  least  be  given  extracts  from 
them.  Her  caustic  condemnation  of  the  fantas 
tical  Mistress  Clo  had  gradually  lapsed  into  a 
doubtful  wonder,  which  later  became  open  amaze 
not  untinged  with  a  pretty  spitefulness  and  re 
sentment. 

"'Tis  indeed  a  strange  thing,  and  one  to  make 
one  suspicious  of  her,  Thomas,"  she  wrote,  "  with 
all  her  bold  ways,  to  suddenly  put  on  such  de- 


202       HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

corum.  We  are  all  sure  'tis  from  some  .cunning 
motive,  and  wait  to  find  out  what  she  will  be  at 
next.  At  first  none  believed  she  would  hold  out 
or  would  know  how  to  behave  herself,  but  Lud  !  if 
you  could  see  her  I  am  sure,  Tom,  both  you  and 
Mr.  Langton  would  be  disgusted  by  her  majestic 
airs.  Being  dressed  in  woman's  clothing  she  is 
taller  than  ever,  and  so  holds  her  chin  and  her 
eyes  that  it  makes  any  modist  woman  mad.  If 
she  was  a  Duchess  at  Court  she  could  not  be  more 
stately  than  she  now  pretends  she  is  (for  of  course 
it  is  pretence,  as  anyone  knows).  She  has  had  the 
vile  cunningness  to  stop  her  bad  langwidg,  as  if 
she  had  never  swore  an  oath  in  her  life  (such  deseat- 
fulness  !).  And  none  can  tell  where  she  hath  learned 
her  manners,  for  if  you  will  beleave  the  thing,  'tis 
said  she  never  makes  a  blunder,  but  can  sweep  a 
great  curtsey  and  sail  about  a  saloon  full  of  company 
as  if  she  was  bred  to  it,  and  can  dance  a  minuet  and 
bear  herself  at  a  feast  in  a  way  to  surprise  you. 
Lady  Maddon  says  that  women  who  are  very  vile 
and  undeserving  are  sometimes  wickedly  clever, 
and  can  pick  up  modist  women's  manners  won- 
drously,  but  they  always  break  out  before  long 
and  are  more  indecent  than  ever;  and  you  may 
mark  my  Lady  Maddon's  words,  she  says  this 
one  will  do  the  same,  but  first  she  is  playing 
a  part  and  restraining  herself  that  she  may  cle- 
seave  some  poor  gentleman  and  trap  him  into 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE       203 

marrying  her.  It  makes  Lady  Maddon  fall 
into  a  passion  to  talk  of  her,  and  she  will  flush 
quite  red  and  talk  so  fast,  but  indeed  after  I  see 
the  creature  or  hear  some  new  story  of  her 
impudent  victories,  I  fall  into  a  passion  my 
self — for,  Tom,  no  human  being  can  put  her  in  her 
placer 

It  must  be  confessed  that  the  attitude  of  the 
recipient  of  these  letters  was  by  no  means  a  re 
spectful  one,  they  being  read  and  re-read  with 
broad  grins  and  frequent  outbursts  of  roaring 
laughter,  ending  in  derisive  or  admiring  com 
ments,  even  Bob  Langton,  who  had  no  objection 
to  pretty  Lady  Betty's  oglings  and  summing  of 
him  as  a  dangerous  beau,  breaking  forth  into 
gleeful  grinning  himself. 

"  Hang  me  if  some  great  nobleman  won't  marry 
her,"  cried  Tom,  "  and  a  fine  lady  she'll  make,  too  ! 
Egad,  it  almost  frightens  one,  for  all  the  joke  of 
it,  to  think  of  a  woman  who  can  do  such  things— 
to  be  a  madder  romp  than  any  and  suddenly  to 
will  that  she  will  change  in  such  a  way,  and  hold 
herself  firm  and  be  beat  by  naught.  'Tis  scarce 
human.  Bet  says  that  her  kinsman,  my  Lord 
Twemlow,  has  took  her  in  hand  and  is  as  proud 
of  her  and  as  fidgety  as  some  match-making 
mother.  And  the  county  people  who  would  not 
have  spoke  to  her  a  year  ago,  have  begun  to  visit 
Wildairs  and  invite  her  to  their  houses,  for  all  the 


204      HIS  GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

men  are  wild  after  her,  and  the  best  way  to  make 
an  entertainment  a  fine  thing  is  to  let  it  be  known 
that  she  will  grace  it.  Even  Sir  Jeof  and  his 
cronies  are  taken  in  because  they  shine  in  her 
glory  and  are  made  decent  by  it." 

"  They  say,  too,"  cried  Bob  Langton,  "  that  she 
makes  them  all  behave  themselves,  telling  them 
that  unless  their  manners  are  decent  they  cannot 
follow  her  to  the  fine  houses  she  is  bid  to — and  she 
puts  them  through  a  drill  and  cuts  off  their  drink 
and  their  cursings  and  wicked  stories.  And 
Gloucestershire  and  Warwickshire  and  Worces 
tershire  are  all  agog  with  it !  " 

"  And  they  follow  her  like  slaves,"  added  Tan- 
tillion,  in  an  ecstacy,  "  and  stand  about  with  their 
mouths  open  to  stare  at  her  swimming  though 
her  minuets  with  bowing  worshippers,  and  oh ! 
Roxholm — nay,  I  should  say  Osmonde  ;  but  how 
can  a  man  remember  you  are  Duke  instead  of  Mar 
quis? — 'tis  told  that  in  the  field  in  her  woman's 
hat  and  hunting-coat  she  is  handsomer  than  ever. 
Even  my  Lord  Dunstanwolde  has  rode  to  the 
meet  to  behold  her,  and  admires  her  as  far  as  a 
sober  elderly  gentleman  can." 

That  my  Lord  Dunstanwolde  admired  her,  Os 
monde  knew.  His  rare  letters  told  a  grave  and 
dignified  gentleman's  version  of  the  story  and 
spoke  of  it  with  kindly  courtesy  and  pleasure  in 
it.  It  had  proved  that  the  change  which  had 


HIS  GRACE  OF   OSMONDE      205 

come  over  her  had  been  the  result  of  no  caprice  or 
mischievous  spirit  but  of  a  reasonable  intention,  to 
which  she  had  been  faithful  with  such  consistency 
of  behaviour  as  filled  the  gossips  and  onlookers 
with  amazement. 

"  'Tis  my  belief,"  said  the  kindly  nobleman, 
"  that  being  in  truth  a  noble  creature,  though 
bred  so  wildly,  the  time  came  when  she  realised 
herself  a  woman,  and  both  wit  and  heart  told  her 
that  'twas  more  honourable  to  live  a  woman's  life 
and  not  a  madcap  boy's.  And  her  intellect  being 
of  such  vigour  and  fineness,  she  can  execute  what 
her  thought  conceives." 

Among  the  gentlemen  who  were  her  courtiers 
there  was  much  talk  of  the  fashionable  rake  Sir 
John  Oxon,  who,  having  appeared  at  her  birth- 
night  supper,  had  become  madly  enamoured  of  her, 
and  had  stayed  in  the  country  at  Eldershawe  Park 
and  laid  siege  to  her  with  all  his  forces  and  with 
much  fervour  of  feeling  besides.  'Twas  a  thing 
well  known  that  this  successful  rake  had  never 
lost  his  heart  to  a  woman  in  his  life  before,  and 
that  his  victims  had  all  been  snared  by  a  part 
played  to  villanous  perfection ;  but  'twas  plain 
enough  that  at  last  he  had  met  a  woman  who  had 
set  that  which  he  called  his  soul  on  fire.  He 
could  not  tear  himself  away  from  the  country, 
though  the  gayeties  of  the  town  were  at  their 
highest.  When  in  her  presence  his  burning  blue 


206       HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

eyes  followed  her  every  movement,  and  when  she 
treated  him  disdainfully  he  turned  pale. 

"But  she  leaves  him  no  room  for  boasting,"  re 
lated  young  Tantillion.  "  He  may  worship  as  any 
man  may,  but  she  shows  no  mercy  to  any,  and 
him  she  treats*  with  open  scorn  when  he  lan 
guishes.  He  grows  thin  and  pale  and  is  half- 
crazed  with  his  passion  for  her." 

There  is  no  man  who  has  given  himself  up  to  a 
growing  passion  and  has  not  yet  revealed  it,  who 
does  not  pass  through  many  an  hour  of  unrest. 
How  could  it  be  otherwise?  In  his  absence  from 
the  object  of  his  feeling  every  man  who  lives 
is  his  possible  rival,  every  woman  his  possible 
enemy,  every  event  a  possible  obstacle  in  the  way 
to  that  he  yearns  for.  And  from  this  situation 
there  is  nothing  which  can  save  a  man.  He  need 
not  be  a  boy  or  a  fool  to  be  tormented  despite 
himself;  the  wisest  and  gravest  are  victims  to 
these  fits  of  heat  and  cold  if  they  have  modesty 
and  know  somewhat  of  the  game  of  chance  called 
Life.  What  may  not  happen  to  a  castle  left  un 
defended  ;  what  may  not  be  filched  from  coffers 
left  unlocked  ?  This  is  the  history  of  a  man  who, 
despite  the  lavishness  of  Fortune  and  the  gifts 
she  had  poured  forth  before  him,  was  of  a  state 
ly  humility.  That  he  was  a  Duke  and  of  great 
estate,  that  he  had  already  been  caressed  by  the 
hand  of  Fame  and  had  been  born  more  stalwart 


HIS  GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      207 

and  beautiful  than  nine  men  of  ten,  did  not,  to  his 
mind,  make  sure  for  him  the  love  of  any  woman 
whom  he  had  not  served  and  won.  He  was  of  no 
meek  spirit,  but  he  had  too  much  wit  and  too  great 
knowledge  of  the  chances  of  warfare  not  to  know 
that  in  love's  campaign,  as  in  any  other,  a  man 
must  be  on  the  field  if  he  would  wield  his  sword. 

So  my  lord  Duke  had  his  days  of  fret  and 
restlessness  as  less  fortunate  men  have  them,  and 
being  held  on  the  Continent  by  duties  he  had 
undertaken  in  calmer  moments,  lay  sometimes 
awake  at  night  reproaching  himself  that  he  had 
left  England.  Such  hours  do  not  make  a  man 
grow  cooler,  and  by  the  time  the  second  year  had 
ripened,  the  months  were  long  indeed.  Well  as 
he  had  thought  he  knew  himself,  there  were  times 
when  the  growth  of  this  passion  which  possessed 
him  awaked  in  him  somewhat  of  wonder.  'Twas 
for  one  with  whom  he  had  yet  never  exchanged 
word  or  glance,  a  creature  whose  wild  youth 
seemed  sometimes  a  century  away  from  him. 
There  had  been  so  many  others  who  had  crossed 
his  path — great  beauties  and  small  ones — but  only 
to  this  one  had  his  being  cried  out  aloud. 

"  It  has  begun,"  he  had  said  to  himself.  "  I  have 
heard  them  tell  of  it — of  how  one  woman's  face 
came  back  to  a  man  again  and  again,  of  how  her 
eyes  would  look  into  his  and  would  not  leave  him 
or  let  him  rest.  It  has  begun  for  me,  too.'* 


208      HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

He  had  grave  duties  to  perform,  affairs  of  seri 
ous  import  to  arrange,  interviews  to  hold  with 
great  personages  and  small,  and  though  none 
might  read  it  in  his  bearing  he  found  himself  ever 
beholding  this  face,  ever  followed  by  the  eyes 
which  would  not  leave  him  and  which,  had  they 
done  so,  would  have  left  him  to  the  dark.  Yet 
this  was  hid  within  his  own  breast  and  was  his 
own  strange  secret  which  he  gave  himself  up  to 
dwell  upon  but  when  he  was  alone.  When  he 
awakened  in  the  morning  he  lay  and  thought  of 
it  and  counted  that  a  day  had  passed  and  another 
begun,  and  found  himself  pondering,  as  all  those 
in  his  case  do,  on  the  events  of  the  future  and  the 
incidents  which  would  lead  him  to  them.  At 
night,  sometimes  in  long  rides  or  walks  he  took 
alone,  he  lived  these  incidents  through  and  imag 
ined  he  beheld  her  as  she  would  look  when  they 
first  met,  as  she  would  look  when  he  told  her  his 
purpose  in  coming  to  her.  If  he  pleased  her,  his 
fancy  pictured  him  the  warm  flash  of  her  large 
eye,  the  smile  of  her  mouth,  half-proud,  half- 
tender,  a  look  which  even  when  but  imagined 
made  his  pulses  beat. 

"  I  do  not  know  her  face  well  enough/'  he  said, 
"to  picture  all  the  beauteous  changes  of  it,  but 
there  will  sure  be  a  thousand  which  a  man  might 
spend  a  life  of  love  in  studying." 

Among  the  many  who  passed  hours  in  his  com- 


HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE      209 

pany  at  this  time,  there  was  but  one  who  guessed, 
even  distantly,  at  what  lay  at  the  root  of  his  be 
ing,  and  this  was  the  man  who,  being  in  a  measure 
of  like  nature  with  his  own,  had  been  in  the  same 
way  possessed  when  deep  passion  came  to  him. 

At  this  period  his  Grace  of  Marlborough  al 
ready  felt  the  tossings  of  the  rising  storm  in  Eng 
land,  and  the  emotions  which  his  Duchess's  letters 
aroused  within  him,  her  anger  at  the  intrigues 
about  her,  her  tigress  love  for  and  belief  in  him, 
her  determination  to  defend  and  uphold  him  with 
all  the  powers  of  her  life  and  strength  and  imperial 
spirit,  were,  it  is  probable,  moving  and  stimulat 
ing  things  which  put  him  in  the  mood  to  be  keen 
of  sight  and  sympathy. 

"There  dwells  some  constant  thought  in  your 
mind,  my  lord  Duke,"  he  said,  on  a  night  in 
which  they  sate  together  alone.  "  Is  it  a  new 
one?" 

"  No,"  Osmonde  answered  ;  "  'twould  perhaps 
not  be  so  constant  if  it  were.  It  is  an  old  thought 

o 

which  has  taken  a  new  form.  In  times  past  " — his 
voice  involuntarily  falling  a  tone  —  "I  did  not 
realise  its  presence." 

The  short  silence  which  fell  was  broken  by  the 
Duke  and  with  some  suddenness. 

"Is  it  one  of  which  you  would  rid  yourself?" 
he  asked. 

"  No,  your  Grace." 


210      HIS  GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

"Tis  well,"  gravely.  "You  couM  not — if  you 
would." 

He  asked  no  further  question,  but  went  on  as  if 
in  deep  thought,  rather  reflecting  aloud. 

"  There  are  times,"  he  said,  "  when  to  some  it  is 
easy  and  natural  to  say  that  such  fevers  are  folly 
and  unreasonableness — but  even  to  those  so  slight 
ly  built  by  nature,  and  of  memories  so  poor,  such 
times  do  not  come,  nor  can  be  dreamed  of,  when 
they  are  passing  through  the  furnace  fires.  They 
come  after — or  before." 

Osmonde  did  not  speak.  He  raised  his  eyes 
and  met  those  of  his  illustrious  companion  square 
ly,  and  for  a  short  space  each  looked  into  the  soul 
of  the  other,  it  so  seemed,  though  not  a  word  was 
spoke. 

"  You  did  not  say  the  thing  before,"  the  Duke 
commented  at  last.  "  You  will  not  say  it  after." 

"  No,  I  shall  not,"  answered  Osmonde,  and  some 
what  later  he  added,  with  flushed  cheek,  "  I  thank 
your  Grace  for  your  comprehension  of  an  un 
spoken  thing. 

Distant  as  he  was  from  Gloucestershire  there 
seemed  a  smiling  fortune  in  the  chances  by  which 
his  thought  was  fed.  What  time  had  wrought  he 
heard  as  time  went  on— that  her  graces  but  de 
veloped  with  opportunity,  that  her  wit  matched 
her  beauty,  that  those  who  talked  gossip  asked 
each  other  in  these  days,  not  what  disgrace  would 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE       211 

be  her  downfall,  but  what  gentleman  of  those  who 
surrounded  her,  paying  court,  would  be  most  likely 
to  be  smiled  upon  at  last.  From  young  Tantillion 
he  heard  such  things,  from  talkative  young  officers 
back  after  leave  of  absence,  and  more  than  once 
from  ladies  who,  travelling  from  England  to  reach 
foreign  gayeties,  brought  with  them  the  latest  talk 
of  the  country  as  well  as  of  the  town. 

From  the  old  Lady  Storms,  whom  he  encoun 
tered  in  Vienna,  he  heard  more  than  from  any 
other.  She  had  crossed  the  Channel  with  her 
Chaplain,  her  spaniel,  her  toady,  and  her  parrot,  in 
search  of  enlivenment  for  her  declining  years,  and 
hearing  that  her  Apollo  Belvidere  was  within 
reach,  sent  a  message  saying  she  would  coax  him 
to  come  and  make  love  to  an  old  woman,  who 
adored  him  as  no  young  one  could,  and  whose 
time  hung  heavy  on  her  hands. 

He  went  to  her  because  she  was  a  kindly,  witty 
old  woman,  and  had  always  avowed  an  affection 
for  him,  and  when  he  arrived  at  her  lodgings  he 
found  her  ready  to  talk  by  the  hour.  All  the  gos 
sip  of  the  Court  she  knew,  all  the  marriages  being 
made  or  broken  off,  all  the  public  stories  of  her 
Grace  of  Maryborough's  bultyings  of  her  Majesty 
and  reviiings  of  Mrs.  Masham,  and  many  which 
were  spiced  by  being  private  and  new.  And  as 
she  chattered  over  her  dish  of  chocolate  and  my 
lord  Duke  listened  with  the  respect  due  her  years, 


212       HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

he  knew  full  well  that  her  stones  would  not  be 
brought  to  a  close  without  reaching  Gloucester 
shire  at  last — or  Warwickshire  or  Worcester,  or 
even  Berks  or  Wilts,  where  she  would  have 
heard  some  romance  she  would  repeat  to  him ; 
for  in  truth  it  ever  seemed  that  it  must  befall 
so  when  he  met  and  talked  with  man  or  woman 
who  had  come  lately  from  England,  Ireland,  or 
Wales. 

And  so  it  did  befall,  but  this  time  'twas  neither 
Gloucestershire,  Worcester,  Warwick,  nor  Berks 
she  had  visited  or  entertained  guests  from,  but 
plain,  lively  town  gossip  she  repeated  apropos  of 
Sir  John  Oxon,  whose  fortunes  seemed  in  evil  case. 
In  five  years'  time  he  had  squandered  all  his  in 
heritance,  and  now  was  in  such  straits  through 
his  creditors  that  it  seemed  plain  his  days  of  fash 
ionable  wild  living  and  popularity  would  soon  be 
over,  and  his  poor  mother  was  using  all  her  wits 
to  find  him  a  young  lady  with  a  fortune. 

"  And  in  truth  she  found  him  one,  two  years 
ago,"  her  Ladyship  added,  "  a  West  Indian  heir 
ess,  but  at  that  time  he  was  dangling  after  the 
wild  Gloucestershire  beauty  and  was  mad  for  her. 
What  was  her  name?  I  forget  it,  though  I 
should  not.  But  she  was  disdainful  and  treated 
him  so  scornfully  that  at  last  they  quarrelled — or 
'twas  thought  so— for  he  left  the  country  and  hath 
not  been  near  her  for  months,  Gooc}  Lord!"  of 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      213 

a  sudden ;  "  is  not  my  Lord  Dunstanwolde  your 
Grace's  distant  kinsman?" 

"  My  father's  cousin  twice  removed,  your  Lady 
ship,"  answered  Osmonde,  wondering  somewhat 
at  the  irrelevance  of  the  question. 

"Then  you  will  be  related  to  the  fantastic 
young  lady  too,"  she  said,  "  if  his  lordship  is  suc 
cessful  in  his  elderly  suit." 

"  His  lordship  ?  "  queried  Osmonde  ;  "  his  lord 
ship  of  Dunstanwolde  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  old  woman,  in  great  good  hu 
mour,  "  for  he  is  more  in  love  than  all  the  rest. 
Faith,  a  man  must  be  in  love  if  he  will  hear 
1  No '  twice  said  to  him  when  he  is  sixty-five  and 
then  go  back  to  kneel  and  plead  again." 

My  lord  Duke  rose  from  his  seat  to  set  upon 
the  table  near  by  his  chocolate-cup.  Months 
later  he  remembered  how  mad  the  tale  had 
seemed  to  him,  and  that  there  had  been  in  his 
mind  no  shadow  of  belief  in  it ;  even  that  an  hour 
after  it  had,  in  sooth,  passed  from  his  memory 
and  been  forgotten. 

"  'Tis  a  strange  rumour,  your  Ladyship,"  he 
said.  "  For  myself  I  do  not  credit  it,  knowing  of 
my  lord's  early  loss  and  his  years  of  mourning 
through  it." 

"  'Tis  for  that  reason  all  the  neighbourhood  is 
agog,"  answered  my  Lady.  "  But  'tis  for  that  rea 
son  I  give  it  credit.  These  men  who  have  wor- 


214      HIS   GRACE    OF   OSMONDE 

shipped  a  woman  once  can  do  it  again.  And  this 
one — Lud !  they  say,  she  is  a  witch  and  no  man 
resists  her." 

A  few  days  later  came  a  letter  from  my  Lord 
Dunstanwolde  himself,  who  had  not  writ  from 
England  for  some  time,  and  in  the  midst  of  his 
epistle,  which  treated  with  a  lettered  man's 
thoughtful  interest  of  the  news  of  both  town  and 
country,  of  Court  and  State,  playhouse  and  club, 
there  was  reference  to  Gloucestershire  and  Mis 
tress  Clorinda  of  Wildairs  Hall. 

"  In  one  of  our  past  talks,  Gerald,"  he  wrote, 
"  you  said  you  thought  often  of  the  changes  time 
might  work  in  such  a  creature.  You  are  given 
to  speculative  thought  and  spoke  of  the  wrong 
the  past  had  done  her,  and  of  your  wonder  if  the 
strength  of  her  character  and  the  clearness  of  her 
mind  might  not  reveal  to  her  what  the  untoward 
circumstances  of  her  life  had  hidden,  and  also 
lead  her  to  make  changes  none  had  believed  pos 
sible.  Your  fancies  were  bolder  than  mine.  You 
are  a  stronger  man  than  I,  Gerald,  though  a  so 
much  younger  one  ;  you  have  a  greater  spirit  and 
a  far  greater  brain,  and  your  reason  led  you  to 
see  possibilities  I  could  not  picture.  In  truth,  in 
those  days  I  regarded  the  young  lady  with  some 
fear  and  distaste,  being  myself  sober  and  elderly. 
But  'tis  you  who  were  right.  The  change  in  her 
is  indeed  a  wondrous  one,  but  that  I  most  marvel 


HIS  GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

at  is  that  I  mark  in  her  a  curious  gentleness,  which 
grows.  She  hath  taken  under  protection  her 
sister  Mistress  Anne,  a  humble  creature  whose 
existence  none  have  seemed  previously  aware  of. 
The  poor  gentlewoman  is  timid  and  uncomely, 
but  Mistress  Clorinda  shows  an  affection  for  her 
she  hath  shown  to  none  other.  But  yesterday 
she  said  to  me  a  novel  thing  in  speaking  of  her — 
and  her  deep  eyes,  which  can  flash  forth  such 
lightnings,  were  soft  as  if  dew  were  hid  in  them 
— *  Why  was  all  given  to  me,'  saith  she,  *  and 
naught  to  her?  Since  Nature  was  not  fair,  then 
let  me  try  to  be  so.  She  is  good,  she  is  innocent, 
she  is  helpless.  I  would  learn  of  her.  Innocence 
one  cannot  learn,  and  helpless  I  shall  never  be, 
yet  would  I  learn  of  her.'  She  hath  a  great, 
strange  spirit,  Gerald,  and  strange  fearlessness  of 
thought.  What  other  woman  dare  arraign  Nat 
ure's  self,  and  command  mankind  to  retrieve  her 
cruelties?" 

Having  finished  his  reading,  my  lord  Duke 
turned  to  his  window  and  looked  out  upon  the 
night,  which  was  lit  to  silver  by  the  moon,  which 
flooded  the  broad  square  before  him  and  the  park 
beyond  it  till  'twas  lost  in  the  darkness  of  the 
trees. 

"  No  other  woman — none,"  he  said — and  such  a 
tumult  shook  his  soul  that  of  a  sudden  he  stretched 
forth  his  arms  unknowing  of  the  movement  and 


216      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

spoke  as  though  to  one  close  at  hand.  "  Great 
God ! "  he  said,  low  and  passionate,  "  you  call  me, 
you  call  me !  Let  me  but  look  into  your  eyes — 
but  answer  me  with  yours — and  all  of  Life  is 
ours !  " 


CHAPTER  XVII 
As  Hugb  de  Mertoun  Rode 

WHEN  he  rode  back  upon  the  road  which  led 
towards  Gloucestershire,  'twas  early  June  again,  as 
it  had  been  when  he  journeyed  to  Camylott  with 
Mr.  Fox  attending.  The  sky  was  blue  once  more, 
there  was  the  scent  of  sweet  wild  things  in  the 
air,  birds  twittered  in  the  hedgerows  and  sky 
larks  sang  on  high ;  all  was  in  full  fair  leafage  and 
full  fair  life.  This  time  Mr.  Fox  was  not  with  him, 
he  riding  alone  save  for  his  servants,  following  at 
some  distance,  for  in  truth  'twas  his  wish  to  be  soli 
tary,  and  he  rode  somewhat  like  a  man  in  a  dream. 

"  There  is  no  land  like  England,"  he  said,  "there 
are  no  such  meadows  elsewhere,  no  such  hedge 
rows,  no  such  birds,  and  no  such  soft  fleeced  white 
clouds  in  the  blue  sky."  In  truth,  it  seemed  so  to 
him,  as  it  seems  always  to  an  Englishman  return 
ing  from  foreign  lands.  The  thatched  cottages 
spoke  of  homely  comfort,  the  sound  of  the  village 
church  bells  was  like  a  prayer,  the  rustics,  as  they 
looked  up  from  work  in  the  fields  to  pull  their 
forelocks  as  he  rode  by  them,  seemed  to  wear 
kindlier  looks  upon  their  sunburnt  faces  than  he 
had  seen  in  other  countries. 

217 


218       HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

"  But,"  he  said  to  himself,  and  smiled  in  saying 
it,  "  it  is  because  I  am  a  happy  man,  and  am  living 
like  one  who  dreams.  Men  have  ridden  before  on 
such  errands.  Hugh  de  Mertoun  rode  so  four 
hundred  years  gone,  to  a  grey  castle  in  the  far 
north  of  Scotland,  to  make  his  suit  to  a  fair  maiden 
whose  beauties  he  had  but  heard  rumour  of  and 
whose  face  he  had  never  seen.  He  rode  through 
a  savage  country,  and  fought  his  way  to  her 
against  axe  and  spear.  But  when  he  reached  her 
she  served  him  in  her  father's  banquet  hall,  and 
in  years  after  used  to  kiss  the  scars  left  by  his 
wounds,  and  sing  at  her  harp  the  song  of  his  jour 
ney  to  woo  her.  But  he  had  not  known  her  since 
the  time  of  her  birth,  and  been  haunted  by  her 
until  her  womanhood." 

To  Dunstan's  Wolde  in  Warwickshire  he  rode, 
where  he  was  to  be  a  guest,  and  sometimes  he  re 
proached  himself  that  he  was  by  natural  habit  of 
such  reserve  that  in  all  their  converse  together  he 
had  never  felt  that  he  could  speak  his  thoughts  to 
his  kinsman  on  the  one  subject  they  had  dwelt 
most  upon.  During  the  last  two  years  he  had 
realised  how  few  words  he  had  uttered  on  this 
subject  even  in  the  days  before  he  had  known  the 
reason  for  his  tendency  to  silence.  At  times  when 
Dunstanwolde  had  spoken  with  freedom  and  at 
length  of  circumstances  which  attracted  the  com 
ments  of  all,  he  himself  had  been  more  frequently 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      219 

listener  than  talker,  and  had  been  wont  to  sit  in 
attentive  silence,  making  his  reflections  later  to 
himself  when  he  was  alone.  After  the  day  on 
which  he  had  lost  himself  upon  Sir  Christopher 
Crowell's  land  and,  lying  among  the  bracken,  had 
heard  the  talk  of  the  sportsmen  below,  he  had 
known  why  he  had  been  so  reticent,  and  during  his 
last  two  years  he  had  realised  that  this  reticence  had 
but  increased.  Despite  his  warm  love  for  my  Lord 
Dunstanwolde  there  had  never  come  an  hour  when 
he  felt  that  he  could  have  revealed  even  by  the  most 
distant  allusion  the  tenor  of  his  mind.  In  his  replies 
to  his  lordship's  occasional  epistles  he  had  touched 
more  lightly  upon  his  references  to  the  household 
of  Wildairs  than  upon  other  things  of  less  mo 
ment  to  him.  Of  Court  stories  he  could  speak 
openly,  of  country,  town,  and  letters,  with  easy 
freedom,  but  when  he  must  acknowledge  news 
from  Gloucestershire,  he  sate  grave  before  his 
paper,  his  pen  idle  in  his  hand,  and  found  but  few 
sentences  to  indite. 

"  But  later,"  he  would  reflect,  "  I  shall  surely 
feel  myself  more  open — and  his  kind  heart  is  so 
full  of  sympathy  that  he  will  understand  my  si 
lence  and  not  feel  it  has  been  grudging  or  ungen 
erous  to  his  noble  friendship." 

And  even  now  as  he  rode  to  the  home  of  this 
gentleman  whose  affection  he  had  enjoyed  with  so 
much  of  appreciation  and  gratitude,  he  consoled 


220      HIS   GRACE  OF   OSMONDE 

himself  again  with  this  thought,  knowing  that  the 
time  had  not  yet  come  when  he  could  unbosom  him- 
self,  nor  would  it  come  until  all  the  world  must  be 
taken  into  his  confidence,  and  he  stand  revealed 
an  exultant  man  whose  joy  broke  all  bonds  for 
him  since  that  he  had  dreamed  of  he  had  won. 

When  he  had  made  his  last  visit  to  Warwickshire 
he  had  thought  my  lord  looking  worn  and  fa 
tigued,  and  had  fancied  he  saw  some  hint  of  new 
trouble  in  his  eyes.  He  had  even  spoke  with  him 
of  his  fancy,  trusting  that  he  had  no  cause  for  anx- 
iousness  and  was  not  in  ill-health,  and  had  been 
answered  with  a  kindly  smile,  my  Lord  averring 
that  he  had  no  new  thing  to  weary  him,  but  only 
one  which  was  old,  \vith  which  he  had  borne 
more  than  sixty  years,  and  which  Avas  somewhat 
the  worse  for  wear  in  these  days — being  himself. 

He  thought  of  this  reply  as  he  passed  through 
the  lovely  village  where  every  man,  woman,  and 
child  knew  him  and  greeted  him  with  warmly 
welcoming  joy,  and  he  was  pondering  on  it  as  he 
rode  through  the  park  gates  and  under  the  big 
beech-trees  which  formed  the  avenue. 

"  Somewhat  had  saddened  him,"  he  thought. 
"  Pray  God  it  has  passed,"  and  was  aroused  from 
his  thinking  by  a  sound  of  horses'  feet,  and  looking 
up  saw  my  lord  cantering  towards  him  on  his 
brown  hackney,  and  with  brightly  smiling  face. 

They  greeted  each  other  with  joyful  affection, 


HIS   GRACE  OF   OSMONDE      221 

as  they  always  did  in  meeting,  and  my  lord's  wel 
come  had  a  touch  of  even  more  loving  warmth 
than  usual.  He  had  come  out  to  meet  his  guest 
and  kinsman  on  the  road,  and  had  thought  to  be 
in  time  to  join  him  earlier  and  ride  with  him 
through  the  village. 

o  o 

"On  my  soul,  Gerald,"  he  said,  gaily,  "'tis  use 
less  that  you  should  grow  handsomer  and  taller 
each  time  you  leave  us.  Surely,  there  is  a  time 
for  a  man  to  be  content.  Or  is  it  that  when  you 
are  absent  one  sees  gentlemen  of  proportions  so 
much  more  modest  that  when  you  return  we  must 
get  used  to  your  looks  again.  Your  sunburn  is 
as  becoming  as  your  laurels." 

His  own  worn  look  had  passed.  Osmonde  had 
never  seen  him  so  well  and  vigorous,  being  in 
deed  amazed  by  his  air  of  freshness  and  renewed 
youth.  His  finely  cut,  high  bred  countenance 
had  gained  a  slight  colour,  his  sweet  grey  eyes 
were  clear  and  full  of  light,  and  he  bore  himself 
more  strongly  and  erect.  For  the  first  time 
within  his  remembrance  of  him,  my  lord  Duke 
observed  that  he  wore  another  colour  than  black, 
though  it  was  of  rich,  dark  shade,  being  warm, 
deep  brown,  and  singularly  becoming  him,  his 
still  thick  grey  hair  framing  in  silver  his  fine, 
gentle  face. 

"  And  you,"  Osmonde  answered  him,  marking 
all  these  things  with  affectionate  pleasure,  "your 


222       HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

weariness  has  left  you.  I  have  never  seen  you 
look  so  young  and  well." 

"  Young  !  "  said  my  lord,  smiling,  "  at  sixty- 
eight?  Well,  in  truth,  I  feel  so.  Let  us  pray  it 
may  not  pass.  'Tis  hope — which  makes  new  sum 
mer." 

They  dined  alone,  and  sitting  over  their  wine 
had  cheerful  talk.  A  man  is  not  absent  from  his 
native  land  for  two  good  years,  even  when  they 
are  spent  in  ordinary  travel,  without  on  his  return 
having  much  to  recount  in  answer  to  the  question 
ings  of  his  friends  ;  but  two  years  spent  in  camp 
and  Court  during  a  great  campaign  may  furnish 
hours  of  talk  indeed. 

Yet  though  their  conversation  did  not  flag, 
and  each  found  pleasure  in  the  other's  company, 
Osmonde  was  conscious  of  a  secret  restlessness. 
Throughout  the  whole  passing  of  the  repast  it 
chanced  not  once  that  the  name  was  mentioned 
which  had  so  often  been  spoke  before  when  they 
had  been  together;  there  had  been  a  time  when 
in  no  talk  of  the  neighbourhood  could  it  well  have 
been  avoided,  but  now,  strangely  enough,  no  new 
incident  was  related,  no  reference  to  its  bearer 
made.  This  might,  perhaps,  be  because  the  hero 
ine  of  that  scandal,  having  begun  to  live  the  ordi 
nary  life  of  womankind,  there  were  no  fantastic 
stories  to  tell,  the  county  having  had  time  to  be 
come  accustomed  to  the  change  in  her  and  com- 


HIS   GRACE  OF  OSMONDE      223 

ment  on  it  no  more.  And  still  there  was  a  singu 
larity  in  the  silence.  Yet  for  my  lord  Duke  himself 
it  was  impossible  to  broach  the  subject,  he  being 
aware  that  he  was  not  calm  enough  in  mind  to 
open  it  with  a  composure  which  would  not  betray 
his  interest. 

He  had  come  from  town  under  promise  to  at 
tend  that  night  a  birthday  ball  in  the  neighbour 
hood,  a  young  relative  coming  of  age  and  cele 
brating  his  majority.  The  kinship  was  not  close, 
but  greatly  valued  by  the  family  of  the  heir,  and 
his  Grace's  presence  had  been  so  ardently  desired, 
that  he,  who  honoured  all  claims  of  his  house  and 
name,  had  given  his  word. 

And  'twas  at  last  through  speech  of  this,  and 
only  as  they  parted  to  apparel  themselves  for  this 
festivity,  my  Lord  Dunstanwolde  touched  upon 
the  thing  one  man  of  them,  at  least,  had  not  had 
power  to  banish  from  his  mind  throughout  their 
mutual  talk. 

"  Young  Colin  is  a  nice,  well-meaning  lad,"  said 
my  lord  as  they  passed  through  the  hall  to  mount 
the  staircase.  "  He  is  plain  featured  and  awkward, 
but  modest  and  of  good  humour.  He  will  be 
greatly  honoured  that  the  hero  of  his  house  should 
be  present  on  the  great  night.  You  arc  the  hero, 
you  know,  having  been  with  Marlborotigh,  and 
bearing  still  the  scar  of  a  wound  got  at  Blenheim, 
though  'twas  *  not  as  deep  as  a  grave  or  as  wide 


224      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

as  a  church  door/  And  with  orders  on  your 
broad  chest  and  the  scent  of  gunpowder  in  your 
splendid  periwig  you  will  make  a  fine  figure. 
They  will  all  prostrate  themselves  before  you,  and 
when  you  make  your  state  bow  to  the  beauty, 
Mistress  -Clorinda — for  you  will  see  her — she  will 
surely  give  you  a  dazzling  smile." 

"  That  I  will  hope  for,"  answered  my  lord  Duke, 
smiling  himself ;  but  his  heart  leaped  like  a  live 
thing  in  his  breast  and  did  not  cease  its  leaping  as 
he  mounted  the  stairway,  though  he  bore  himself 
with  outward  calm. 

When  within  his  room  he  strode  to  and  fro,  his 
arms  folded  across  his  breast.  For  some  time  he 
could  not  have  composed  himself  to  sit  down  or 
go  to  rest.  This  very  night,  then,  he  was  to  behold 
her  face  to  face ;  in  but  a  few  hours  he  would  stand 
before  her  bowing,  and  rise  from  his  obeisance  to 
look  into  the  great  eyes  which  had  followed  him 
so  long — ay,  so  much  longer  than  he  had  truly 
understood.  What  should  he  read  there — what 
thought  which  might  answer  to  his  own  ?  It  had 
been  his  plan  to  go  to  my  Lord  Twemlow  and  ask 
that  he  might  be  formally  presented  to  his  fair 
kinswoman  and  her  parent.  Knowing  his  mind, 
he  was  no  schoolboy  who  would  trust  to  chance, 
but  would  move  directly  and  with  dignity  towards 
the  object  he  desired.  The  representatives  of  her 
family  would  receive  him,  and  'twas  for  himself  to 


HIS   GRACE  OF  OSMONDE      225 

do  the  rest.  But  now  he  need  go  to  no  man  to 
ask  to  be  led  to  her  presence.  The  mere  chance 
of  Fortune  would  lead  him  there.  'Twas  strange 
how  it  had  ever  been  so — that  Fate's  self  had 
seemed  to  work  to  this  end. 

The  chamber  was  a  huge  one  and  he  had  paced 
its  length  many  times  before  he  stopped  and  stood 
in  deep  thought. 

"  'Tis  sure  because  of  this/'  he  said,  "  that  I  have 
so  little  doubt.  There  lies  scarce  a  shadow  yet  in 
my  mind.  'Tis  as  if  Nature  had  so  ordained  it 
before  I  woke  to  life,  and  I  but  go  to  obey  her 
law." 

His  eye  had  fallen  upon  a  long  mirror  standing 
near,  but  he  did  not  see  what  was  reflected  there, 
and  gazed  through  and  beyond  it  as  if  at  another 
thing.  And  yet  the  image  before  him  was  one 
which  might  have  removed  doubt  of  himself  from 
any  man's  heart,  it  being  of  such  gracious  height 
and  manly  strength,  and,  with  its  beauteous  leo 
nine  eye  and  brow,  its  high  bearing,  and  the  rich 
ness  of  its  apparel,  so  noble  a  picture. 

He  turned  away  unseeing,  with  a  smile  and  half 
a  sigh  of  deep  and  tender  passion.  "  May  I  ride 
home,"  he  said,  "  as  Hugh  de  Mertoun  did — four 
hundred  years  ago  !  " 

When  they  arrived  at  their  entertainer's  house 
the  festivities  were  at  full ;  brilliant  light  shone 
15 


226      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

from  every  window  and  streamed  from  the  wide 
entrance  in  a  flood,  coaches  rolled  up  the  avenue 
and  waited  for  place  before  the  door,  from  within 
strains  of  music  floated  out  to  the  darkness  of  the 
night,  and  as  the  steps  were  mounted  each  arrival 
caught  glimpses  of  the  gay  scene  within :  gentle 
men  in  velvet  and  brocade  and  ladies  attired  in  all 
the  rich  hues  of  a  bed  of  flowers — crimson,  yellow, 
white  and  blue,  purple  and  gold  and  rose. 

Their  young  host  met  them  on  the  threshold 
and  welcomed  them  with  boyish  pride  and  ardour. 
He  could  scarce  contain  himself  for  pleasure  at 
being  so  honoured  in  his  first  hospitalities  by  the 
great  kinsman  of  his  house,  who,  though  but  ar 
rived  at  early  maturity,  was  already  spoken  of 
as  warrior,  statesman,  and  honoured  favourite  at 
Court. 

"  We  are  but  country  gentry,  your  Grace,"  he 
said,  reddening  boyishly,  when  he  had  at  length 
led  them  up  the  great  stairway  to  the  ball-room, 
"  and  most  of  us  have  seen  little  of  the  world.  As 
for  me,  I  have  but  just  come  from  Cambridge, 
where  I  fear  I  did  myself  but  small  credit.  In  my 
father's  day  we  went  but  seldom  to  town,  as  he 
liked  horses  and  dogs  better  than  fine  company. 
So  I  know  nothing  of  Court  beauties,  but  to 
night — "  and  he  reddened  a  little  more  and  ended 
somewhat  awkwardly  —  "  to-night  you  will  see 
here  a  beauty  who  surely  cannot  be  outshone 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      227 

at  Court,  and  men  tell  me  cannot  be  matched 
there." 

"  Tis  Mistress  Clorinda  Wildairs  he  speaks  of/' 
said  Sir  Christopher  Crowell,  who  stood  near, 
rubicund  in  crimson,  and  he  said  it  with  an  un- 
courtly  wink;  "and,  ecod !  he's  right  —  though  I 
am  "  not  a  town  man." 

"  He  is  enamoured  of  her,"  he  added  in  proud 
confidence  later  when  he  found  himself  alone  for  a 
moment  by  his  Grace.  "  The  youngsters  are  all 
so — and  men  who  are  riper,  too.  Good  Lord,  look 
at  me  who  have  dandled  her  on  my  knee  when  she 
was  but  five  years  old — and  am  her  slave,"  chuck 
ling.  "  She's  late  to-night.  Mark  the  fellows  loiter 
ing  about  the  doors  and  on  the  stairway.  Tis  that 
each  hopes  to  be  the  first  to  catch  her  eye." 

'Twas  but  a  short  time  afterward  my  lord  Duke 
had  made  his  way  to  the  grand  staircase  himself, 
it  being  his  intention  to  go  to  a  lower  room,  and 
reaching  the  head  of  it  he  paused  for  a  moment  to 
gaze  at  the  brilliant  scene.  The  house  was  great 
and  old,  and  both  halls  and  stairway  of  fine  pro 
portions,  and  now,  brilliant  with  glow  of  light  and 
the  moving  colour  of  rich  costumes,  presented  in 
deed  a  comely  sight.  And  he  had  no  sooner  paused 
to  look  down  than  he  heard  near  by  a  murmur  of 
low  exclamation,  and  close  at  his  side  a  man  broke 
forth  in  rough  ecstacy  to  his  companion. 

"  Clorinda,  by   Gad ! "   he  said,  "  and   crowned 


228      HIS   GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

with  roses !  The  vixen  makes  them  look  as  if  they 
were  built  of  rubies  in  every  leaf." 

And  from  below  she  came — up  the  broad  stair 
way,  upon  her  father's  arm. 

Well  might  their  eyes  follow  her  indeed,  and  well 
might  his  own  look  down  upon  her,  burning.  The 
strange  compellingness  of  her  power,  which  was 
a  thing  itself  apart  from  beauty,  and  would  have 
ruled  for  her  had  she  not  possessed  a  single  charm, 
had  so  increased  that  he  felt  himself  change  colour 
at  the  mere  sight  of  her.  Oh  !  'twas  not  the  colour 
and  height  and  regal  shape  of  her  which  were  her 
splendour,  but  this  one  Heaven-born,  unconquer 
able  thing.  Her  lip  seemed  of  a  deeper  scarlet, 
the  full  roundness  of  her  throat  rose  from  among 
her  laces,  bound  with  a  slender  circlet  of  glittering 
stars,  her  eyes  had  grown  deeper  and  more  melt 
ing,  and  yet  held  a  great  flame.  Nay,  she  seemed 
a  flame  herself — of  life,  of  love,  of  spirit  which 
naught  could  daunt  or  quell,  and  on  her  high- 
held  imperial  head  she  wore  a  wreath  of  roses  red 
as  blood. 

"  She  will  look  up,"  he  thought,  "  she  will  look 
up  at  me." 

But  she  did  not,  though  he  could  have  sworn 
that  which  he  felt  should  have  arrested  her. 
Somewhat  seemed  to  hold  her  oblivious  of  those 
who  were  near  her ;  she  gazed  straight  before  her 
as  if  expecting  to  see.  something,  and  as  she  passed 


HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE      229 

my  lord  Duke  on  the  landing,  a  heavy  velvet  rose 
broke  from  her  crown  and  fell  at  his  very  foot. 

He  bent  low  to  pick  it  up,  the  blood  surging  in  his 
veins — and  when  he  raised  himself,  holding  it  in  his 
hand,  she  was  moving  onward  through  the  crowd 
which  closed  behind  to  gaze  and  comment  on  her 
— and  his  kinsman  Dunstanwolde  came  forward 
from  an  antechamber,  his  gentle,  high  bred  face 
and  sweet  grey  eyes  glowing  with  greeting. 

Those  of  reflective  habit  may  indeed  find  cause 
for  thought  in  realising  the  power  of  small  things 
over  great,  of  rule  over  important  events,  of  ordi 
nary  social  observance  over  the  most  powerful  emo 
tion  a  man  or  woman  may  be  torn  or  uplifted  by. 
He  whose  greatest  longing  on  earth  is  to  speak  face 
to  face  to  the  friend  whom  ill  fortune  has  caused 
to  think  him  false,  seeing  this  same  friend  in  a 
crowded  street  a  hundred  yards  distant,  cannot 
dash  the  passers-by  aside  and  race  through  or  leap 
over  them  to  reach,  before  it  is  too  late,  the  beloved 
object  he  beholds  about  to  disappear ;  he  cannot  ar 
rest  that  object  with  loud  outcries,  such  conduct 
being  likely  to  cause  him  to  be  taken  for  a  madman, 
and  restrained  by  the  other  lookers-on ;  the  tender 
woman  whose  heart  is  breaking  under  the  weight 
of  misunderstanding  between  herself  and  him  she 
loves,  is  powerless  to  attract  and  detain  him  if 
he  passes  her,  either  unconscious  of  her  nearness 
or  of  intention  coldly  averting  his  gaze  from  her 


230      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

pleading  eyes.  She  may  know  that,  once  having 
crossed  the  room  where  she  sits  in  anguish,  all 
hope  is  lost  that  they  may  meet  again  on  this  side 
of  the  grave.  She  may  know  that  a  dozen  words 
would  fill  his  heart  with  joy,  and  that  all  life  would 
smile  to  both  henceforth,  but  she  cannot  force  her 
way  to  his  side  in  public ;  she  cannot  desert  with 
out  ceremony  the  stranger  who  is  conversing  court 
eously  ;  she  cannot  cry  out,  she  may  not  even 
speak,  it  may  be  that  it  is  not  possible  that  she 
should  leave  her  place — and  he  who  is  her  heart's 
blood  approaches  slowly — is  near — has  passed — is 
gone — and  all  has  come  to  bitter,  cruel  end.  In  my 
lord  Duke  of  Osmonde's  mind  there  was  no  thought 
of  anguish  or  the  need  for  it ;  he  but  realised  that  he 
had  felt  an  unreasonable  pang  when  she  whom  he 
had  so  desired  to  behold  had  passed  him  by  unno 
ticed.  'Twas  after  all  a  mere  trick  of  chance,  and 
recalled  to  him  the  morning  two  years  before, 
when  he  had  heard  her  horse's  feet  splashing 
through  the  mire  of  the  narrow  lane,  and  had 
drawn  his  own  beast  aside  while  she  galloped  past 
unaware  of  his  nearness,  and  with  the  strange,  ab 
sorbed,  and  almost  fierce  look  in  her  eyes.  He  had 
involuntarily  gathered  his  bridle  to  follow  her  and 
then  had  checked  his  impulse,  realising  its  impetu- 
ousness,  and  had  turned  to  ride  homeward  with  a 
half  smile  on  his  lips  but  with  his  heart  throbbing 
hard.  But  what  perchance  struck  him  most  to- 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      231 

night,  was  that  her  eyes  wore  a  look  unlike,  yet 
somehow  akin,  to  that  which  he  had  marked  and 
been  moved  by  then — as  if  storm  were  hid  within 
their  shadows  and  she  herself  was  like  some  fine 
wild  thing  at  bay. 

There  would  have  been  little  becomingness  in 
his  hastening  after  her  and  his  Lordship  of  Dun- 
stanwolde ;  his  court  to  her  must  be  paid  with 
grace  and  considerateness.  If  there  were  men 
who  in  their  eagerness  forgot  their  wit  and  tact, 
he  was  not  one  of  them. 

He  turned  to  re-enter  the  ball-room  and  approach 
her  there,  and  on  the  threshold  encountered  young 
Colin,  who  looked  for  the  moment  pale. 

"Did  you  see  her?"  he  asked.  "She  has  but 
just  passed  through  the  room  with  my  Lord  Dun- 
stanwolde — Mistress  Clorinda,"  he  added,  with  a 
little  rueful  laugh.  "  In  Gloucestershire  there  is 
but  one  '  she.'  When  we  speak  of  the  others  we 
use  their  names  and  call  them  Mistress  Margaret 
or  my  Lady  Betty — or  Jane." 

"  I  stood  at  the  head  of  the  stairway  as  she 
passed,"  answered  Osmonde. 

"  It  cannot  be  true,"  the  lad  broke  forth ;  "  it 
makes  me  mad  even  to  hear  it  spoke — though  he 
is  a  courtly  gentleman  and  rich  and  of  high  stand 
ing — but  he  is  old  enough  to  be  her  grandfather. 
Though  she  is  such  a  woman,  she  is  but  seven 
teen,  and  my  lord  is  near  seventy." 


232       HIS   GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

Osmonde  turned  an  inquiring  gaze  upon  him, 
and  the  boy  broke  into  his  confused  half-laugh 
again. 

"  I  speak  of  my  Lord  Dunstanwolde,"  he  said. 
"  Twice  he  has  asked  her  to  be  his  Countess,  and 
all  say  that  to-night  she  is  to  give  him  her  answer. 
Jack  Oxon  has  heard  it  and  is  mad  enough.  Look 
at  him  as  he  stands  by  the  archway  there.  His 
eyes  are  like  blue  steel  and  he  can  scarce  hide  his 
rage.  But  better  she  should  take  Dunstanwolde 
than  Jack  "—hotly. 

The  musicians  were  playing  a  minuet  in  the  gal 
lery,  there  was  dancing,  slow,  stately  movements 
and  deep  obeisance  going  on  in  the  room,  couples 
were  passing  to  and  fro,  and  here  and  there  groups 
stood  and  watched.  My  lord  Duke  stood  and 
watched  also ;  a  little  court  had  gathered  about 
him  and  he  must  converse  with  those  who  formed 
it,  or  listen  with  gracious  attention  to  their  re 
marks.  But  his  grace  and  composure  cost  him  an 
effort.  There  came  back  to  him  the  story  old 
Lady  Storms  had  told  in  Vienna  and  which  he  had 
not  believed  and  had  even  forgot.  The  memory 
of  it  returned  to  him  with  singular  force  and  clear 
ness.  He  told  himself  that  still  it  could  not  be 
true,  that  his  young  host's  repetition  of  it  rose 
from  the  natural  uneasy  jealousy  of  a  boy — and  yet 
the  pageant  of  the  brilliant  figures  moving  before 
him  seemed  to  withdraw  themselves  as  things  do 


HIS   GRACE  OF   OSMONDE      233 

in  a  dream.  He  remembered  my  Lord  Dunstan- 
wolde's  years  and  his  faithfulness  to  the  love  of 
his  youth,  and  there  arose  before  him  the  young 
look  he  had  worn  when  they  met  in  the  avenue, 
his  words,  "'Tis  hope  which  makes  new  summer," 
and  the  music  of  the  minuet  sounded  distant  in  his 
ears,  while  as  it  rang  there,  he  knew  he  should  not 
forget  it  to  his  life's  end.  Yet  no,  it  could  not  be 
so.  A  gentleman  near  seventy  and  a  girl  of  sev 
enteen  !  And  still,  to  follow  the  thought  honestly, 
even  at  seven  and  sixty  years  my  Lord  had  greater 
grace  and  charm  than  many  a  man  not  half  his  age. 
And  with  that  new  youth  and  tenderness  in  his 
eyes  no  woman  could  shrink  from  him,  at  least. 
And  still  it  could  not  be  true,  for  Fate  herself  had 
driven  him  to  this  place — Nature  and  Fate. 

Sir  John  Oxon  stood  near  the  doorway,  striving 
to  smile,  but  biting  his  lip ;  here  and  there  his 
Grace  vaguely  observed  that  there  seemed  new 
talk  among  the  moving  couples  and  small  gathered 
groups.  About  the  entrance  there  was  a  stirring 
and  looking  out  into  the  corridor,  and  in  a  moment 
or  so  more  the  company  parted  and  gave  way,  and 
his  Lordship  of  Dunstanwolde  entered,  with  Mis 
tress  Clorinda  upon  his  arm ;  he,  gracefully  erect 
in  bearing,  as  a  conqueror  returning  from  his 
victory. 

An  exclamation  broke  from  the  young  Colin 
which  was  like  a  low  cry. 


234      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

"  Tis  true  !  "  he  said.  "  Yes,  yes  ;  'tis  in  his 
eyes.  'Tis  done — 'tis  done !  " 

His  Grace  of  Osmonde  turned  towards  his  kins 
man,  who  he  saw  was  approaching  him,  and 
greeted  him  with  a  welcoming  smile ;  the  red  rose 
was  still  held  in  his  hand.  He  stood  drawn  to  his 
full  height,  a  stately,  brilliant  figure,  with  his  or 
ders  glittering  on  his  breast,  his  fine  eyes  deeply 
shining — waiting. 

The  company  parted  before  the  two  advancing 
figures — his  Lordship's  rich  violet  velvet,  the  splen 
did  rose  and  silver  making  a  wondrous  wave  of 
colour,  the  wreath  of  crimson  flowers  on  the  black 
hair  seeming  like  a  crown  of  triumph. 

Before  my  lord  Duke  they  paused,  and  never 
had  the  old  Earl's  gentle,  high  bred  face  worn  so 
tenderly  affectionate  a  smile,  or  his  grey  eyes  so 
sweet  a  light. 

"  My  honoured  kinsman,  his  Grace  the  Duke  of 
Osmonde,"  he  said  to  her  who  glowed  upon  his  arm. 
"  Your  Grace,  it  is  this  lady  who  is  to  do  me  the 
great  honour  of  becoming  my  Lady  Dunstanwolde." 

And  they  were  face  to  face,  her  great  orbs  look 
ing  into  his  own,  and  he  saw  a  thing  which  lay  hid 
in  their  very  depths — and  his  own  flashed  despite 
himself,  and  hers  fell ;  and  he  bowed  low,  and  she 
swept  a  splendid  curtsey  to  the  ground. 

So,  for  the  first  time  in  their  lives,  he  looked 
into  her  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XVlll 
A  Night  in  which  my  Lord  Duke  Did  Not  Sleep 

As  they  rolled  over  the  roads  on  their  way 
homeward,  in  the  darkness  of  their  coach,  my  Lord 
Dunstanwolde  spoke  of  his  happiness  and  told  its 
story.  There  was  no  approach  to  an  old  lover's 
exultant  folly  in  his  talk ;  his  voice  was  full  of  no^ 
ble  feeling,  and  in  his  manner  there  was  some 
what  like  to  awe  of  the  great  joy  which  had  be 
fallen  him.  To  him  who  listened  to  the  telling 
'twas  a  strange  relation  indeed,  since  each  incident 
seemed  to  reveal  to  him  a  blindness  in  himself. 
Why  had  he  not  read  the  significance  of  a  score 
of  things  which  he  could  now  recall  ?  A  score  of 
things  ? — a  hundred  !  Because  he  had  been  in  his 
early  prime,  and  full  of  the  visions  and  passions  of 
youth,  he  had  not  for  one  moment  dreamed  that  a 
man  who  was  so  far  his  senior  could  be  a  man  still, 
his  heart  living  enough  to  yearn  and  ache,  his  eyes 
clear  to  see  the  radiance  others  saw,  and  appraise  it 
as  adoringly.  'Twas  the  common  fault  of  youth  to 
think  to  lead  the  world  and  to  sweep  aside  from  its 
path  all  less  warm-blooded,  strong-limbed  creatures, 
feeling  their  day  was  done  for  them,  and  that  for 
them  there  was  naught  left  but  to  wait  quietly  for 

235 


236      HIS   GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

the  end.  There  was  an  ignobleness  in  it — a  self-ab 
sorption  which  was  almost  dishonour.  And  in  this 
way  he  had  erred  as  far  as  any  stripling  with  bloom 
ing  cheeks  and  girlish  love-locks  who  thought  that 
nine  and  twenty  struck  the  knell  of  love  and  life. 
1 T  was  thoughts  like  these  that  were  passing  through 
his  mind  as  they  were  driven  through  the  darkness 
• — at  least  they  were  the  thoughts  upon  the  surface 
of  his  mind,  while  below  them  surged  a  torrent 
into  whose  darkness  he  dared  not  look.  He  was  a 
man,  and  he  had  lost  her — lost  her !  She  had  be 
come  a  part  of  his  being — and  she  had  been  torn 
from  his  side.  "  Let  me  but  look  into  your  eyes," 
he  had  said,  and  he  had  looked  and  read  her  an 
swering  soul — too  late ! 

"  I  have  passed  through  dark  days,  Gerald," 
my  lord  was  saying.  "  How  should  I  have  dared 
to  hope  that  she  would  give  herself  to  me?  I 
had  been  mad  to  hope  it.  And  yet  a  man  in  my 
case  must  plead,  whether  he  despairs  or  not.  I 
think  'twas  her  gentleness  to  Mistress  Ann  which 
has  sustained  me.  That  poor  gentlewoman  and  I 
have  the  happiness  to  know  her  heart  as  others  do 
not.  Thank  God, 'tis  so!  When  to-night  I  said 
to  her  sadly,  *  Madam,  my  youth  is  long  past/  she 
stopped  me  with  a  strange  and  tender  little  cry. 
She  put  her  hand  upon  my  shoulder.  Ah,  its  soft 
touch,  its  white,  kind  caress!  '  Youth  is  not  all/ 
she  said.  '  I  have  known  younger  men  who  could 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE       237 

not  bring  a  woman  truth  and  honourable  love. 
'  Tis  not  I  who  give,  'tis  not  I,'  and  the  full  sweet 
red  of  her  mouth  quivered.  I — have  not  yet 
dared  to  touch  it,  Gerald."  And  his  voice  was 
sad  as  well  as  reverent.  "Youth  would  have 
been  more  bold." 

In  his  dark  corner  of  the  coach  his  Grace 
checked  breath  to  control  a  start.  In  the  past  he 
had  had  visions  such  as  all  men  have — and  all 
was  lost !  And  to-morrow  his  kinsman  would 
have  gained  courage  to  look  his  new  bliss  in  the 
face — the  autumn  of  his  days  would  be  warmed 
by  a  late  glow  of  the  sun,  but  that  long  summer 
which  yet  lay  before  himself  would  know  no 
flame  of  gold.  The  years  he  had  spent  in  train 
ing  his  whole  being  to  outward  self-control  at 
least  did  service  to  him  now,  and  aided  him  to 
calm,  affectionate  speech. 

"  You  will  make  her  life  a  happy  one,  my 
Lord,"  he  said,  "  and  you  will  be  a  joyous  man 
indeed." 

Together  they  conversed  on  this  one  subject 
until  their  journey  was  over.  When  they  had 
passed  through  the  hall  and  stood  at  length  in 
the  light  of  the  apartment  in  which  it  was  their 
custom  to  sit,  Osmonde  beheld  in  my  lord's  face 
the  freshness  and  glow  he  had  marked  on  his  ar 
rival,  increased  tenfold,  and  now  he  well  under 
stood.  In  truth,  the  renewal  of  his  life  was  a 


238       HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

moving  thing  to  see.  He  stood  by  the  mantel,  his 
arm  resting  upon  it,  his  forehead  in  his  hand,  for 
a  little  space  in  silence  and  as  if  lost  in  thought. 

"She  is  a  goddess,"  he  said,  "and  because  she 
is  so,  can  be  humble.  Had  you  but  seen  her, 
Gerald,  when  she  spoke.  '  'Tis  not  I  who  give,' 
she  saith.  '  You  are  a  great  Earl,  I  am  a  poor 
beauty — a  shrew — a  hoyden.  I  give  naught  but 
this!'  and  flung  her  fair  arms  apart  with  a  great 
lovely  gesture  and  stood  before  me  stately,  her 
beauty  glowing  like  the  sun." 

He  drew  a  deep  sigh  of  tenderness  and  looked 
up  with  a  faint  start.  "  'Tis  not  fair  I  should 
fatigue  you  with  my  ecstasy,"  he  said.  "You 
look  pale,  Gerald.  You  are  generous  to  listen 
with  such  patience." 

"  I  need  no  patience,"  answered  my  lord 
Duke  with  noble  warmth,  "  to  aid  me  to  listen  to 
the  kinsman  I  have  loved  from  childhood  when 
he  speaks  of  his  happiness  with  the  fairest  woman 
in  the  world.  Having  seen  her  to-night,  I  do  not 
wonder  she  is  called  so  by  her  worshippers." 

"  The  fairest  and  the  noblest,"  said  my  Lord. 
"  Great  Heaven,  how  often  have  I  sate  alone  in 
this  very  room  calling  myself  a  madman  in  my 
despair!  And  now  'tis  past!  Sure  it  cannot  be 
true  ?  " 

"  'Tis  true,  my  dear  Lord,"  said  Osmonde,  "  for 
I  beheld  it." 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSJVLONDE      239 

"  Had  you  been  in  my  place,"  his  Lordship  said 
with  his  grave,  kindly  look,  "  you  need  not  have 
wondered  at  your  fortune.  If  you  had  lived  in 
Warwickshire  instead  of  winning  laurels  in  cam 
paign  you  might  have  been  my  rival  if  you  would 
— and  I  a  hopeless  man — and  she  a  Duchess.  But 
you  two  never  met." 

My  lord  Duke  held  out  his  hand  and  grasped 
his  kinsman's  with  friendly  sympathy. 

"  Until  to-night  we  never  met,"  he  said.  "  'Twas 
Fate  ordained  it  so— and  I  would  not  be  your 
rival,  for  we  have  loved  each  other  too  long.  I 
must  wait  to  find  another  lady,  and  she  will  be 
Countess  of  Dunstanwolde." 

He  bore  himself  composedly  until  they  had  ex- 
changed  the  final  courtesies  and  parted  for  the 
night,  and  having  mounted  the  stairs  had  passed 
through  the  long  gallery  which  led  him  to  his 
apartments.  When  he  opened  the  door  it  seemed 
to  his  fancy  that  the  wax  tapers  burned  but  dimly 
amid  the  shadows  of  the  great  room,  and  that  the 
pictured  faces  hanging  on  the  walls  looked  white 
and  gazed  as  if  aghast. 

The  veins  were  swollen  in  his  temples  and 
throbbed  hard,  his  blood  coursed  hot  and  cold 
alternately,  there  were  drops  starting  out  upon 
his  brow.  He  had  not  known  his  passions  were 
so  tempestuous  and  that  he  could  be  prey  to  such 
pangs  of  anguish  and  of  rage.  Hitherto  he  had 


240      HIS  GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

held  himself  in  check,  but  now  'twas  as  if  he  had 
lost  his  hold  on  the  reins  which  controlled  gallop 
ing  steeds.  The  blood  of  men  who  had  been 
splendid  savages  centuries  ago  ran  wild  within 
him.  His  life  for  thirty  years  had  been  noble 
and  just  and  calm.  Being  endowed  with  all 
gifts  by  Nature  and  his  path  made  broad  by 
Fortune,  he  had  dealt  in  high  honour  with  all 
bestowed  upon  him.  But  now  for  this  night  he 
knew  he  was  a  different  man,  and  that  his  hour 
had  come. 

He  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  chamber  and 
tossed  up  his  hands,  laughing  a  mad,  low,  harsh 
laugh. 

"  Not  as  Hugh  de  Mertoun  came  back,"  he  said. 
"  Good  God  !  no,  no  !  " 

The  rage  of  him,  body  and  soul,  made  him  sick 
and  suffocated  him. 

"  Could  a  man  go  mad  in  such  case?  "  he  cried. 
"I  am  not  sane!  I  cannot  reason!  I  would  not 
have  believed  it." 

His  arteries  so  throbbed  that  he  tore  open  the 
lace  at  his  throat  and  flung  back  his  head.  "  I 
cannot  reason  !  "  he  said.  "  I  know  now  how  men 
kill.  And  yet  he  is  as  sweet  a  soul  as  Heaven 
ever  made."  He  paced  the  great  length  of  the 
chamber  to  and  fro. 

"  'Tis  not  Nature,"  he  said.  "  It  cannot  be 
borne — he  to  hold  her  to  his  breast,  and  / — /  to 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      241 

stand  aside.  Her  eyes  —  her  lovely,  melting, 
woman's  eyes !  " 

Men  have  been  mad  before  for  less  of  the  same 
torment,  and  he  whose  nature  was  fire,  and  whose 
imagination  had  the  power  to  torture  him  by  pict 
uring  all  he  had  lost  and  all  another  man  had 
won,  was  only  saved  because  he  knew  his  frenzy. 

"  To  this  place  itself  she  will  be  brought,"  he 
thought.  "In  these  rooms  she  will  move,  wife 
and  queen  and  mistress.  He  will  so  worship  her 
that  she  cannot  but  melt  to  him.  At  the  mere 
thought  of  it  my  brain  reels/' 

He  knew  that  his  thoughts  were  half  delirium, 
his  words  half  raving,  yet  he  could  not  control 
them,  and  thanked  chance  that  his  apartment 
was  near  none  other  which  was  occupied,  and  that 
he  could  stride  about  and  stamp  his  foot  upon  the 
floor,  and  yet  no  sound  be  heard  beyond  the  mas 
sive  walls  and  doors.  Outside  such  walls,  in  the 
face  of  the  world,  he  must  utter  no  word,  show  no 
sign  by  any  quiver  of  a  muscle;  and  'twas  the 
realisation  of  the  silence  he  must  keep,  the  poign- 
ard  stabs  he  must  endure  without  movement, 
which  at  this  hour  drove  him  to  madness. 

"  This  is  but  the  beginning,"  he  groaned. 
"  Since  I  am  his  kinsman  and  we  have  been 
friends,  I  am  bound  as  a  man  upon  the  rack  is 
bound  while  he  is  torn  limb  from  limb.  I  must 
see  it  all — there  will  be  no  escape.  At  their  mar- 
16 


242       HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

riage  I  must  attend  them.  God  sa've  me — taking 
my  fit  place  as  the  chief  of  my  house  at  the  nup 
tials  of  a  well  beloved  kinsman,  I  must  share  in 
the  rejoicings,  and  be  taunted  by  his  rapture  and 
her  eyes.  Nay,  nay,  she  cannot  gaze  at  him  as 
she  would  have  gazed  at  me — she  cannot!  Yet 
how  shall  I  endure!  " 

For  hours  he  walked  to  and  fro,  the  mere  sense 
of  restless  movement  being  an  aid  to  his  mood. 
Sometimes  again  he  flung  himself  into  a  seat  and 
sat  with  hidden  eyes.  But  he  could  not  shut  out 
the  pictures  his  fevered  fancy  painted  for  him. 
A  man  of  strong  imagination,  and  who  is  possessed 
by  a  growing  passion,  cannot  fail  to  depict  to 
himself,  and  live  in,  vivid  dreams  of  that  future 
of  his  hopes  which  is  his  chiefest  joy.  So  he  had 
dreamed,  sometimes  almost  with  the  wild  fervour 
of  a  boy,  smiling  while  he  did  it,  at  his  own 
pleasure  in  the  mere  detail  his  fancy  presented  to 
him.  In  these  day-dreams  his  wealth,  the  beauty 
and  dignity  of  his  estates,  the  brilliant  social  at 
mosphere  his  rank  assured  him,  had  gained  a 
value  he  had  never  recognised  before.  He  re 
membered  now,  with  torturing  distinctness,  the 
happy  day  when  it  had  first  entered  his  mind, 
that  those  things  which  had  been  his  daily  sur 
roundings  from  his  childhood  would  all  be  new 
pleasures  to  her,  all  in  strong  contrast  to  the  at 
mosphere  of  her  past  years.  His  heart  actually 


HIS   GRACE   OF  OSMONDE       243 

leapt  at  the  thought  of  the  smilingness  of  fortune 
which  had  lavished  upon  him  so  much,  that 
'twould  be  rapture  to  him  to  lay  at  her  feet.  He 
had  remembered  tenderly  the  stately  beauty  of 
his  beloved  Camylott,  the  bosky  dells  at  Mar- 
lowell  Dane,  the  quaint  dignity  of  the  Eliza 
bethan  manor  at  Paulyn  Dorlocks,  the  soft  hills 
near  Mertounhurst,  where  myriads  of  harebells 
grew  and  swayed  in  the  summer  breeze  as  it 
swept  them ;  and  the  clear  lake  in  the  park  at 
Roxholm,  where  the  deer  came  to  drink,  and  as  a 
boy  he  had  lain  in  his  boat  and  rocked  among  the 
lily-pads  in  the  early  morning,  when  the  great 
white  water-flowers  spread  their  wax  cups  broad 
and  seemed  to  hold  the  gold  of  the  sun.  His  life 
had  been  so  full  of  beauty  and  fair  things  ;  where 
soever  his  lot  had  fallen  at  any  time  he  had  had  fair 
days,  fair  nights,  and  earth's  loveliness  to  behold. 
And  all  he  had  loved  and  joyed  in,  he  had  known 
she  would  love  and  joy  in,  too.  What  a  chate 
laine  she  would  make,  he  had  thought ;  how  the 
simple  rustic  folk  would  worship  her  !  What  a 
fit  setting  for  her  beauty  would  seem  the  grand 
saloons  of  Osmonde  House !  What  a  fit  and 
queen-like  wearer  she  would  be  for  the  marvel 
lous  jewels  which  had  crowned  fair  heads  and 
clasped  fair  throats  and  arms  for  centuries ! 
There  were  diamonds  all  England  had  heard 
rumour  off  and  he  had  even  lost  himself  in  a 


244      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

lover's  fancy  of  an  hour  when  he  himself  would 
clasp  a  certain  dazzling  collar  round  the  column 
of  her  throat,  and  never  yet  had  he  given  himself 
to  the  fancy  but  in  his  vision  he  had  laid  his  lips 
on  the  warm  whiteness  when  'twas  done,  and  lost 
himself  in  a  passionate  kiss — and  she  had  turned 
and  smiled  a  heavenly  answering  bridal  smile. 

This  he  remembered  now,  clinching  his  hands 
until  he  drove  the  nails  into  his  palms. 

"  I  have  been  madder  than  I  thought,"  he  said. 
"  Yes,  'twas  madness — but  'twas  Nature,  too ! 
Good  God !  his  forehead  dropping  in  his  hand 
and  he  panting.  "  I  feel  as  if  she  had  been  a  year 
my  wife,  and  another  man  had  torn  her  from  my 
breast.  And  yet  she  has  not  been  mine  an  hour 
— nor  ever  will  be — and  she  is  Dunstanwolde's, 
who,  while  I  wake  in  torment,  dreams  in  bliss,  as 
is  his  honest,  heavenly  right."  Even  to  the  torment 
he  had  no  claim,  but  in  being  torn  by  it  seemed  but 
robbing  another  man.  What  a  night  of  impotent 
rage  it  was,  of  unreasoning,  hopeless  hatred  of 
himself,  of  his  fate,  and  even  of  the  man  who  was 
his  rival,  though  at  his  worst  he  reviled  his  frenzy, 
which  could  be  so  base  as  to  rend  unjustly  a 
being  without  blame. 

'Twas  not  himself  who  hated,  but  the  madness 
in  his  blood  which  for  this  space  ran  riot. 

At  dawn,  when  the  first  glimmer  of  light  began 
to  pale  the  skies,  he  found  himself  sitting  by  the 


HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE      245 

wide-thrown  casement  still  in  the  attire  he  had 
worn  the  night  before.  For  the  first  time  since 
he  had  been  born  his  splendid  normal  strength 
had  failed  him  and  he  was  heavy  with  unnatural 
fatigue.  He  sate  looking  out  until  the  pale  tint 
had  deepened  to  primrose  and  the  primrose  into 
sunrise  gold  ;  birds  wakened  in  the  trees'  broad 
branches  and  twittered  and  flew  forth;  the  sward 
and  flowers  were  drenched  with  summer  dews, 
and  as  the  sun  changed  the  drops  to  diamonds  he 
gazed  upon  the  lovely  peace  and  breathed  in  the 
fresh  fragrance  of  the  early  morn  with  a  deep 
sigh,  knowing  his  frenzy  past  but  feeling  that  it 
had  left  him  a  changed  man. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  I  have  been  given  too  beau 
teous  and  smooth  a  life.  Till  now  Fate  has  denied 
me  nothing,  and  I  have  gone  on  my  way  unknow 
ing  it  has  been  so,  and  fancying  that  if  misfortune 
came  I  should  bear  it  better  than  another  man. 
'Twas  but  human  vanity  to  believe  in  powers 
which  never  had  been  tried.  Self-command  I  have 
preached  to  myself,  calmness  and  courage ;  for 
years  I  have  believed  I  possessed  them  all  and 
was  Gerald  Mertoun's  master,  and  yet  at  the  first 
blow  I  spend  hours  of  the  night  in  madness  and 
railing  against  Fate.  But  one  thing  I  can  comfort 
myself  with — that  I  wore  a  calm  face  and  could 
speak  like  a  man — until  I  was  alone.  Thank  God 
for  that." 


246      HIS   GRACE  OF   OSMONDE 

As  he  sate  he  laid  his  plans  'for  the  future, 
knowing  that  he  must  lay  out  for  himself  such 
plans  and  be  well  aware  of  what  he  meant  to  do, 
that  he  might  at  no  time  betray  himself  to  his 
kinsman  and  by  so  doing  cast  a  shadow  on  his 
joy. 

"  Should  he  guess  that  it  has  been  paid  for  by 
my  despair/'  he  said,  "  'twould  be  so  marred  for 
his  kind  heart  that  I  know  not  how  he  would  bear 
the  thought.  'Twould  be  to  him  as  if  he  had 
found  himself  the  rival  of  the  son  he  loved.  He 
has  loved  me,  Heaven  knows,  and  I  have  loved 
him.  'Tis  an  affection  which  must  last." 

My  Lord  Dunstanwolde  had  slept  peacefully 
and  risen  early.  He  was  full  of  the  reflections 
natural  to  a  man  to  whom  happiness  has  come 
and  the  whole  tenor  of  whose  future  life  must  be 
changed  in  its  domestic  aspect,  whose  very  house 
hold  must  wear  a  brighter  face,  and  whose  entire 
method  of  existence  will  wear  new  and  more 
youthful  form.  He  walked  forth  upon  his  do 
main,  glad  of  its  beauty  and  the  heavenly  bright 
ness  of  the  day  which  showed  it  fair.  He  had 
spent  an  hour  out  of  doors,  and  returning  to  the 
terrace  fronting  the  house,  where  already  the 
peacocks  had  begun  to  walk  daintily,  spreading 
or  trailing  their  gorgeous  iridescent  plumes,  he 
looked  up  at  his  kinsman's  casement  and  gave  a 
start.  My  lord  Duke  sate  there  still  in  his  gala 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE       247 

apparel  of  white  and  gold  brocade,  his  breast 
striped  by  the  broad  blue  ribbon  of  the  Garter, 
jewelled  stars  shining  on  his  coat. 

"  Gerald,"  he  called  to  him  in  alarm,  "  you  are 
still  dressed  !  Are  you  ill,  my  dear  boy !  " 

Osmonde  rose  to  his  feet  with  a  quickness  of 
movement  which  allayed  his  momentary  fear ;  he 
waved  his  hand  with  a  greeting  smile. 

"  Tis  nothing,"  he  answered,  "  I  was  a  little 
ailing,  and  after  'twas  past  I  fell  asleep  in  my 
chair.  The  morning  air  has  but  just  awaked  me." 


CHAPTER  XIX 
"  Then  you  might  have  been  one  of  those " 

WHEN  the  Earl  and  Countess  of  Dunstanwolde 
arrived  in  town  and  took  up  their  abode  at  Dun 
stanwolde  House,  which  being  already  one  of  the 
finest  mansions,  was  made  still  more  stately  by  its 
happy  owner's  command,  the  world  of  fashion 
was  filled  with  delighted  furore.  Those  who  had 
heard  of  the  Gloucestershire  beauty  by  report 
were  stirred  to  open  excitement,  and  such  as  had 
not  already  heard  rumours  of  her  were  speedily 
informed  of  all  her  past  by  those  previously  en 
lightened.  The  young  lady  who  had  so  high  a 
spirit  as  to  have  at  times  awakened  somewhat  of 
terror  in  those  who  were  her  adversaries  ;  the 
young  lady  who  had  made  such  a  fine  show  in  male 
attire,  and  of  whom  it  had  been  said  that  she  could 
outleap,  outfence,  and  outswear  any  man  her  size, 
had  made  a  fine  match  indeed,  marrying  an  elderly 
nobleman  and  widower,  who  for  years  had  lived 
the  life  of  a  recluse,  at  last  becoming  hopelessly 
enamoured  of  one  who  might  well  be  his  youngest 
child. 

"What  will  she  do  with  him?"  said  a  flippant 
modish  lady  to  his  Grace  of  Osmonde  one  morn- 

248 


HIS  GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      249 

ing.  "  How  will  she  know  how  to  bear  herself 
like  a  woman  of  quality?" 

"  Should  you  once  behold  her,  madam,"  said  his 
Grace,  "you  will  know  how  she  would  bear  her 
self  were  she  made  Queen." 

"Faith!"  exclaimed  the  lady,  "with  what  a 
grave,  respectful  air  you  say  it.  I  thought  the 
young  creature  but  a  joke." 

"  She  is  no  joke,"  Osmonde  answered,  with  a 
faint,  cold  smile. 

"  'Tis  plain  enough  'tis  true  what  is  said — the 
men  all  lose  their  hearts  to  her.  We  thought 
your  Grace  was  adamant "  -  with  simpering 
roguishness. 

"  The  last  two  years  I  have  spent  with  the  army 
in  Flanders,"  said  my  lord  Duke,  "and  her  Lady 
ship  of  Dunstanwolde  is  the  wife  of  my  favourite 
kinsman." 

'Twas  this  last  fact  which  was  the  bitterest  thing 
of  all,  and  which  made  his  fate  most  hard  to  bear 
with  patience.  What  he  had  dreaded  had  proven 
itself  true,  and  more.  Had  my  Lord  Dunstanwolde 
been  a  stranger  to  him  or  a  mere  acquaintance  he 
could  have  escaped  all,  or  at  least  the  greater 
part,  of  what  he  now  must  endure.  As  the  chief 
of  his  house  his  share  in  the  festivities  attendant 
upon  the  nuptials  had  been  greater  than  that  of 
any  other  man.  As  one  who  seemed  through  their 
long  affection  to  occupy  almost  the  place  of  a  son 


250      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

to  the  bridegroom,  it  had  been  but  natural  that  he 
should  do  him  all  affectionate  service,  show  the 
tenderest  courtesy  to  his  bride,  and  behold  all  it 
most  tortured  him  to  see.  His  gifts  had  been  the 
most  magnificent,  his  words  of  friendly  gratula- 
tion  the  warmest.  When  they  were  for  a  few  mo 
ments,  on  the  wedding-day,  alone,  his  Lordship 
had  spoken  to  him  of  the  joy  which  made  him 
pale. 

"  Gerald,"  he  said,  "  I  could  speak  to  none  other 
of  it.  Your  great  heart  will  understand.  'Tis  al 
most  too  sacred  for  words.  Shall  I  waken  from  a 
dream  ?  Surely,  'tis  too  heavenly  sweet  to  last." 

Would  it  last  ?  his  kinsman  asked  himself  in  se 
cret,  could  it  ?  Could  one,  like  her,  and  who  had 
lived  her  life,  feel  an  affection  for  a  consort  so  sep 
arated  from  her  youth  and  bloom  by  years  ?  She 
was  so  young,  and  all  the  dazzling  of  the  world 
was  new.  What  beauteous,  high-spirited,  country- 
bred  creature  of  eighteen  would  not  find  its  daz 
zle  blind  her  eyes  so  that  she  could  scarce  see 
aright  ?  He  asked  himself  the  questions  with  a 
pang.  To  expect  that  she  should  not  even  swerve 
with  the  intoxication  of  it,  was  to  expect  that  she 
should  be  nigh  superhuman,  and  yet  if  she  should 
fail,  and  step  down  from  the  high  shrine  in  which 
his  passion  had  placed  her,  this  would  be  the 
fiercest  anguish  of  all. 

"  Were  she  mine,"  he  cried,  inwardly,  "  I  could 


HIS   GRACE  OF   OSMONDE      251 

hold  and  guide  her  with  love's  hand.  We  should 
be  lost  in  love,  and  follies  and  Courts  would 
have  no  power.  Love  would  be  her  shield  and 
mine.  Poor  gentleman,"  remembering  the  tender 
worship  in  my  Lord's  kind  face ;  "  how  can  she 
love  him  as  he  loves  her?  But  oh.  she  should — she 
should  I" 

If  in  the  arrogance  of  her  youth  and  power  she 
could  deal  with  him  lightly  or  unkindly,  he  knew 
that  even  his  own  passion  could  find  no  pardon  for 
her — yet  if  he  had  but  once  beheld  her  eyes  an 
swer  her  lord's  as  a  woman's  eyes  must  answer 
those  of  him  she  loves,  it  would  have  driven  him 
mad.  And  so  it  came  about  that  to  see  that  she 
was  tender  and  noble  he  watched  her,  and  to  be 
sure  that  she  was  no  more  than  this  he  knew  he 
watched  her  too,  calling  himself  ignoble  that  Nat 
ure  so  prompted  him. 

There  was  a  thing  she  had  said  to  him  but  a 
week  after  the  marriage  which  had  sunk  deep  into 
his  soul  and  given  him  comfort. 

"  From  my  lord  I  shall  learn  new  virtues,"  she 
said,  with  a  singular  smile,  which  somehow  to  his 
mind  hid  somewhat  of  pathos.  "  '  New  virtues/ 
say  I ;  all  are  new  to  me.  At  Wildairs  we  con 
cerned  ourselves  little  with  such  matters."  She 
lifted  her  eyes  and  let  them  rest  upon  him  with 
proud  gravity.  "  He  is  the  first  good  man,"  she 
said,  "  whom  I  have  ever  known." 


252       HIS  GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

'Twas  not  as  this  man  observed  her  life  that  the 
world  looked  on  at  it,  but  in  a  different  manner  and 
with  a  different  motive,  and  yet  both  the  world  and 
his  Grace  of  Osmonde  beheld  the  same  thing, 
which  was  that  my  Lord  Dunstanwolde's  happi 
ness  was  a  thing  which  grew  greater  and  deeper 
as  time  passed,  instead  of  failing  him.  When  she 
went  to  Court  and  set  the  town  on  fire  with  her 
beauty  and  her  bearing,  had  her  lord  been  a  man 
of  youth  and  charm  matching  her  own,  the  grace 
and  sweetness  of  her  manner  to  him  could  not  have 
made  him  a  more  envied  man.  The  wit  and  spirit 
with  which  she  had  ruled  her  father  and  his  cro 
nies  stood  her  in  as  good  stead  as  ever  in  the  great 
World  of  Fashion,  as  young  beaux  and  old  ones 
who  paid  court  to  her  might  have  told ;  but  of  her 
pungency  of  speech  and  pride  of  bearing  when  she 
would  punish  or  reprove,  my  lord  knew  nothing, 
he  but  knew  tones  of  her  voice  which  were  tender, 
looks  which  were  her  loveliest,  and  most  womanly, 
warm,  and  sweet. 

They  were  so  sweet  at  times  that  Osmonde 
turned  his  gaze  away  that  he  might  not  see  them, 
and  when  his  Lordship,  as  was  natural,  would  have 
talked  of  her  dearness  and  beauties,  he  used  all  his 
powers  to  gently  draw  him  from  the  subject  with 
out  seeming  to  lack  sympathy.  But  when  a  man 
is  the  idolatrous  slave  of  happy  love  and,  being  of 
mature  years,  has  few,  nay,  but  one  friend  young 


HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE      253 

enough  to  tell  his  joy  to  with  the  feeling  that  he  is 
within  reach  of  the  comprehension  of  it,  'tis  inevi 
table  that  to  this  man  he  will  speak  often  of  that 
which  fills  his  being. 

His  Lordship's  revealings  of  himself  and  his  ten 
derness  were  involuntary  things.  There  was  no 
incident  of  his  life  of  which  one  being  was  not  the 
central  figure,  no  emotion  which  had  not  its  birth 
in  her.  He  was  not  diffuse  or  fond  to  weakness, 
but  full  of  faithful  love  and  noble  carefulness. 

"  I  would  not  weary  her  with  my  worship,  Ger 
ald,"  he  said  one  day,  having  come  to  Osmonde 
House  to  spend  an  hour  in  talk  with  him.  "  Let 
me  open  my  heart  to  you,  which  is  sometimes  too 
full." 

On  this  morning  he  gave  unconscious  explana 
tion  of  many  an  incident  of  the  past  few  years. 
He  spoke  of  the  time  when  he  had  found  himself 
wakening  to  this  dream  of  a  new  life,  yet  had  not 
dared  to  let  his  thoughts  dwell  upon  it.  He  had 
known  suffering — remorse  that  he  should  be  faith 
less  to  the  memory  of  his  youth,  in  some  hours 
almost  horror  of  himself,  and  yet  had  struggled 
and  approached  himself  in  vain.  The  night  of 
Lord  Twemlow's  first  visit,  when  my  lord  Duke 
(then  my  lord  Marquis)  had  been  at  Dunstanwolde, 
the  occasion  upon  which  Twemlow  had  so  fretted 
at  his  fair  kinswoman  and  told  the  story  of  the  fall 
ing  of  her  hair  in  the  hunting-field,  he  had  been 


254      HIS   GRACE   OF  OSMONDE 

disturbed  indeed,  fearing  that  his  countenance 
would  betray  him. 

"  I  was  afraid,  Gerald ;  afraid,"  he  said,  "  think 
ing  it  unseemly  that  a  man  of  my  years  should 
be  so  shaken  with  love — while  your  strong  youth 
had  gone  unscathed.  Did  I  not  seem  ill  at  ease  ?  " 

"  I  thought  that  your  Lordship  disliked  the 
subject,"  Osmonde  answered,  remembering  well. 
"  Once  I  thought  you  pale." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  my  Lord.  "  I  felt  my  colour 
change  at  the  cruel  picture  my  Lord  Twemlow 
painted — of  her  hunted  helplessness  if  harm  be 
fell  her." 

"  She  would  not  be  helpless,"  said  Osmonde. 
"  Nothing  would  make  her  so." 

Her  Lord  looked  up  at  him  with  brightened 
eye. 

"True— true!  "  he  said.  "At  times,  Gerald,  I 
think  perhaps  you  know  her  better  than  I.  More 
than  once  your  chance  speech  of  her  has  shown 
so  clear  a  knowledge.  Tis  because  your  spirit  is 
like  to  her  own." 

Osmonde  arose  and  went  to  a  cabinet,  which 
he  unlocked. 

"I  have  hid  here,"  he  said,  "somewhat  which 
I  must  show  you.  It  should  be  yours — or  hers — 
and  has  a  story." 

As  his  eyes  fell  upon  that  his  kinsman  brought 
forth  his  lordship  uttered  an  exclamation.  Twas 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE       255 

the  picture  of  his  lady,  stolen  before  her  marriage 
by  the  drunken  painter. 

"  It  is  herself,"  he  exclaimed,  "  herself,  though 
so  roughly  done." 

My  lord  Duke  stood  a  little  apart  out  of  the 
range  of  his  vision  and  related  the  history  of  the 
canvas.  He  had  long  planned  that  he  would  do 
the  thing,  and  therefore  did  it.  All  the  plans  he 
had  made  for  his  future  conduct  he  had  carried 
out  without  flinching.  There  had  been  hours 
when  he  had  been  like  a  man  who  held  his  hand 
in  a  brazier,  but  he  had  shown  no  sign.  The  can 
vas  had  been  his  companion  so  long  that  to  send 
it  from  him  would  be  almost  as  though  he  thrust 
forth  herself  while  she  held  her  deep  eyes  fixed 
upon  him.  But  he  told  the  story  of  the  garret 
and  the  drunken  painter,  in  well-chosen  words. 

"  'Twas  but  like  you,  Gerald,"  my  lord  said 
with  gratitude.  "  Few  other  men  would  have 
shown  such  noble  carefulness  for  a  wild  beauty 
they  scarce  knew.  I — will  leave  it  with  you." 

"  You — will  leave  it !  "  answered  my  lord  Duke, 
his  pulse  quickening.  "  I  did  not  hope  for  such 
generosity." 

His  lordship  smiled  affectionately.  "  Yes,  'tis 
generous,"  he  returned.  "  I  would  be  so  gener 
ous  with  no  other  man.  Kneller  paints  her  for 
me  now,  full  length,  in  her  Court  bravery  and 
with  all  her  diamonds  blazing  on  her.  'Twill  be  a 


256      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

splendid  canvas.  And  lest  you  should  think  me 
too  ready  to  give  this  away,  I  will  tell  you  that  I 
feel  the  story  of  the  rascal  painter  would  displease 
her.  She  hath  too  high  a  spirit  not  to  be  fretted 
at  the  thought  of  being  the  unconscious  tool  of  a 
drunken  vagabond." 

"  Yes,  it  will  anger  her,"  Osmonde  said,  and 
ended  with  a  sudden  smiling.  "  Yet  I  could  not 
keep  hidden  the  beauties  of  my  kinsman's  lady, 
and  must  tell  him." 

So  the  matter  ended  with  friendly  smiles  and 
kindliness,  and  the  picture  was  laid  back  within 
the  cabinet  until  such  time  as  it  should  be  framed 
and  hung. 

"  Surely  you  have  learned  to  love  it  somewhat 
in  your  wanderings?"  said  the  older  man  with 
trusting  nobleness,  standing  looking  at  it,  his 
hand  on  the  other's  arm.  "  You  could  not  help 
it." 

"  No,  I  could  not  help  it,"  answered  Osmonde, 
and  to  himself  he  said,  "  He  will  drive  me  mad, 
generous  soul ;  he  will  drive  me  mad." 

His  one  hope  and  effort  was  so  to  bear  himself 
that  the  unhappy  truth  should  not  be  suspected, 
and  so  well  he  played  his  part  that  he  made  it 
harder  for  himself  to  endure.  It  was  not  only  that 
he  had  not  betrayed  himself  either  in  the  past 
or  present  by  word  or  deed,  but  that  he  had  been 
able  to  so  control  himself  at  worst  that  he  had  met 


HIS  GRACE  OF   OSMONDE      257 

his  kinsman's  eye  with  a  clear  glance,  and  chosen 
such  words  of  response  and  sympathy,  when  cir 
cumstances  so  demanded  of  him,  as  were  generous 
and  gracious  and  unconcerned. 

"  There  has  risen  no  faintest  shadow  in  his  mind," 
was  his  thought.  "  He  loves  me,  he  trusts  me,  he 
believes  I  share  his  happiness.  Heaven  give  me 
strength." 

But  there  was  a  time  when  it  was  scarce  to  be 
avoided  that  they  should  be  bidden  as  guests  to 
Camylott,  inasmuch  as  at  this  splendid  and  re 
nowned  house  my  Lord  of  Dunstanwolde  had 
spent  some  of  his  happiest  hours,  and  loved  it 
dearly,  never  ceasing  to  speak  of  its  stateliness 
and  beauty  to  his  lady. 

"  It  is  the  loveliest  house  in  England,  my  lady," 
he  would  say,  "  and  Gerald  loves  it  with  his  whole 
soul.  I  think  he  loves  it  as  well,  and  almost  in 
such  manner  as  he  will  some  day  love  her  who  is 
his  Duchess.  Know  you  that  he  and  I  walked  to 
gether  in  the  noted  Long  Gallery,  on  the  day  I 
told  him  the  story  of  your  birth  ?  " 

My  lady  turned  with  sudden  involuntary  move 
ment  and  met  my  lord  Duke's  eyes  (curiously 
seldom  their  eyes  met,  as  curiously  seldom  as  if 
each  pair  avoided  the  other).  Some  strange  emo 
tion  was  in  her  countenance  and  rich  colour 
mounted  her  cheek. 

"  How  was  that,  my  lord  ?  "  she  asked.     "  'Twas 

17 


258       HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

a  strange  story,  as  I  have  heard  it — and  a  sad 
one." 

"  He  was  but  fourteen,"  said  Dunstanwolde, 
"yet  its  cruelty  set  his  youthful  blood  on  fire. 
Never  shall  I  forget  how  his  eyes  flashed  and  he 
bit  his  boyish  lip,  crying  out  against  the  hardness 
of  it.  '  Is  there  justice/  he  said,  '  that  a  human 
thing  can  be  cast  into  the  world  and  so  left  alone  ? ' ' 

"  Your  Grace  spoke  so,"  said  her  ladyship  to 
Osmonde,  "while  you  were  yet  so  young?"  and 
the  velvet  of  her  eyes  seemed  to  grow  darker. 

"  It  was  a  bitter  thing,"  said  Osmonde.  "  There 
was  no  justice  in  it." 

"  Nay,  that  there  was  not,"  my  lady  said,  very 
low. 

"  'Twas  ordained  that  you  two  should  be  kins 
man  and  kinswoman,"  said  Dunstanwolde.  "  He 
was  moved  by  stories  of  your  house  when  he  was 
yet  a  child,  and  he  was  ever  anxious  to  hear  of 
your  Ladyship's  first  years,  and  later,  when  I  longed 
for  a  confidant,  though  he  knew  it  not,  I  talked  to 
him  often,  feeling  that  he  alone  of  all  I  knew  could 
understand  you." 

Her  ladyship  stood  erect  and  still,  her  eyes 
downcast,  as  she  slowly  stripped  a  flower  of  its 
petals  one  by  one.  My  lord  Duke  watched  her 
until  the  last  flame-coloured  fragment  fell,  when 
she  looked  up  and  gazed  into  his  face  with  a 
strange,  tragic  searching. 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      259 

"  Then  you  have  known  me  long,  your  Grace  ?  " 
she  said. 

He  bowed  his  head,  not  wishing  that  his  voice 
should  at  that  moment  be  heard. 

"  Since  your  ladyship  was  born,"  said  her  lord, 
happy  that  these  two  he  loved  so  well  should  feel 
they  were  not  strangers.  "  Together  we  both  saw 
you  in  the  hunting-field — when  you  were  but  ten 
years  old." 

Her  eyes  were  still  upon  his — he  felt  that  his 
own  gazed  into  strange  depths  of  her.  The  crim 
son  had  fallen  away  from  her  beauteous  cheeks 
and  she  faintly,  faintly  smiled — almost,  he  thought, 
as  if  she  mocked  at  somewhat,  woefully. 

"  Then — then  you  might  have  been  one  of  those," 
she  said,  slow  and  soft,  "  who  came  to  the  birth- 
night  feast  and — and  saw  my  life  begin." 

And  she  bent  down  as  if  she  scarce  knew  what 
she  did,  and  slowly  gathered  up  one  by  one  the 
torn  petals  she  had  broken  from  her  flower. 

"  Then  you  will  ask  us  to  come  to  visit  you  at 
Camylott,  Gerald  ? "  said  my  lord  later  after  they 
had  talked  further,  he  speaking  of  the  beauties 
of  the  place  and  the  loveliness  of  the  country 
about  it. 

"  It  will  be  my  joy  and  honour  to  be  your  host," 
Osmonde  answered.  "  Since  my  parents'  death  I 
have  not  entertained  guests,  but  had  already 


260      HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

thought  of  doing  so  this  year,  and  could  have  no 
better  reason  for  hospitality  than  my  wish  to  place 
my  house  at  your  ladyship's  service,"  with  a  bow, 
"  and  make  you  free  of  it — as  of  every  other  roof 
of  mine." 


CHAPTER  XX 

At  Camylott 

A  MONTH  later  the  flag  floated  from  Camylott 
Tower  and  the  village  was  all  alive  with  rustic 
excitement,  much  ale  being  drunk  at  the  Plough 
Horse  and  much  eager  gossip  going  on  between 
the  women,  who  had  been  running  in  and  out  of 
each  other's  cottages  for  three  days  to  talk  over 
each  item  of  news  as  it  reached  them.  Since  the 
new  Duke  had  taken  possession  of  his  inheritance 
there  had  been  no  rejoicing  or  company  at  the 
Tower,  all  the  entertaining  rooms  having  been 
kept  closed,  and  the  great  house  seeming  grievous 
ly  quiet  even  when  his  Grace  came  down  to  spend 
a  few  weeks  in  it.  To  himself  the  silence  had  been 
a  sorrowful  thing,  but  he  had  no  desire  to  break 
it  by  filling  the  room  with  guests,  and  had  indeed 
resolved  in  private  thought  not  to  throw  open 
its  doors  until  he  brought  to  it  a  mistress.  The 
lovely  presence  of  the  last  mistress  it  had  known 
had  been  so  brightly  illuminating  a  thing,  filling  its 
rooms  and  galleries  and  the  very  park  and  ter 
races  and  gardens  themselves  with  sunshine  and 
joyousness.  In  those  happy  days  no  apartment 
had  seemed  huge  and  empty,  no  space  too  great 

261 


262      HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

to  warm  and  light  with  homely  pleasure.  But 
this  fair  torch  extinguished,  apartments  large 
enough  for  royal  banquets,  labyrinths  of  corridors 
and  galleries  leading  to  chambers  enough  to 
serve  a  garrison,  seemed  all  the  more  desolate  for 
their  size  and  splendour,  and  in  them  their  own 
er  had  suffered  a  sort  of  homesickness.  'Twas  a 
strange  thing  to  pass  through  the  beautiful  famil 
iar  places  now  that  they  were  all  thrown  open  and 
adorned  for  the  coming  guests,  reflecting  that 
the  gala  air  was  worn  for  her  who  should,  Fate 
willing,  have  made  her  first  visit  as  mistress,  and 
realising  that  Fate  had  not  been  willing  and  that 
she  came  but  as  a  guest  and  Countess  of  Dunstan- 
wolde.  Oh,  it  was  a  bitter,  relentless  thing ;  and 
why  should  it  have  been — for  what  wise  purpose 
or  what  cruel  one?  And  with  a  maddening 
clutch  about  his  heart  he  saw  again  the  tragic 
searching  in  her  eyes  when  she  had  said,  "  Then 
you  have  known  me  long,  your  Grace,"  and  after 
wards,  so  soft  and  strangely  slow,  "  Then  you 
might  have  been  one  of  those  who  came  to  my 
birthnight  feast,  and  saw  my  life  begin." 

He  might  have  been,  Heaven  knew.  Good 
God,  why  had  he  not?  Why  had  he  gone  back 
to  Flanders  ?  Now  it  seemed  to  his  mind  the  folly 
of  a  madman,  and  yet  at  the  time  he  had  felt  his 
duty  to  his  house  commanded  that  he  should  not 
give  way  to  the  rising  tempest  of  his  passion,  but 


HIS   GRACE   OF  OSMONDE      263 

should  at  least  wait  a  space  that  time  might  prove 
that  he  could  justly  trust  the  honour  of  his  name 
and  the  fortune  of  his  peoples  into  this  wild, 
lovely  being's  hands.  Had  he  been  free  from  all 
responsibilities,  free  enough  to  feel  that  he  risked 
no  happiness  but  his  own,  and  by  his  act  could 
wrong  none  other  than  himself,  he  would  not  have 
waited  to  see  what  time  wrought  but  have  staked 
his  future  life  upon  this  die.  He  had  denied  him 
self  and  waited,  and  here  he  stood  in  the  Long 
Gallery,  and  'twas  thrown  open  and  adorned  for 
the  coming  of  my  Lady  Dunstanwolde. 

"  I  meant  an  honest  thing,"  he  said,  gazing 
out  over  his  fair  domain  through  a  dark  mist,  it 
seemed  to  him.  "  All  my  life  I  have  meant  hon 
estly.  Why  should  a  man's  life  go  wrong  because 
he  himself  would  act  right?  " 

The  flag  fluttered  and  floated  from  the  battle 
ments  of  the  tower,  the  house  was  beautiful  in 
its  air  of  decorated  order  and  stateliness,  glowing 
masses  of  flowers  lighted  every  corner,  and  tall 
exotic  plants  stood  guard  about ;  the  faces  of  lord 
and  lady,  dame  and  knight,  in  the  pictures  seemed 
to  look  downward  with  a  waiting  gaze.  Outside, 
terraces  and  parterres  were  wonders  of  late  sum 
mer  brilliancy  of  bloom,  and  the  sunshine  glowed 
over  all.  On  the  high  road  from  town  at  this 
hour  the  cavalcades  of  approaching  guests  must 
ride  in  coach  or  chariot  or  on  horseback.  When 


264       HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

the  equipage  of  the  Earl  and  his  Countess  passed 
through  Camylott  village,  old  Rowe  would  ring 
a  welcoming  peal.  But  my  lord  Duke  stood  still 
at  the  window  of  the  Long  Gallery  where  he  had 
said  his  tender  farewell  to  his  beloved  mother  be 
fore  she  had  left  her  home.  He  was  thinking  of 
a  grave  thing  and  feeling  that  the  violet  eyes 
rested  upon  him  again  in  a  soft  passion  of  pity. 
The  thing  he  thought  of  was  that  which,  when 
his  eyes  met  my  Lady  Dunstanwolde's,  made  the 
blood  pulse  through  his  veins ;  'twas  that  he  had 
known  he  should  some  day  see  in  some  woman's 
eyes,  and  had  told  himself  would  be  answer  to  the 
question  his  being  asked;  'twas  that  he  had  prayed 
God  he  might  see,  ay,  and  had  believed  and 
sworn  to  himself  he  should  see — in  this  woman's 
when  he  came  back  to  stand  face  to  face  with  her 
as  lover,  if  she  would.  Well,  he  had  come  and 
seen  it,  and  'twas  in  the  eyes  and  soul  of  her  who 
was  to  be  his  kinsman's  wife.  And  never  since 
he  had  been  man  born  had  he  beheld  the  faintest 
glimmering  of  its  glow  in  any  woman's  eyes, 
though  they  had  been  like  pools  of  love  or  stars  of 
Heaven,  never  yet !  Moreover,  he  knew  well  that 
he  never  should  again  behold  it  in  any  hour  to 
come.  Before  its  fire  his  soul  shook  and  his  body 
trembled ;  'twas  a  thing  which  drew  him  with 
a  power  no  human  being  could  explain  the 
strength  of  or  describe ;  had  he  been  weak  or  evil, 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE       265 

and  she  evil,  too,  it  would  have  dragged  him  to 
her  side  through  crime  and  hell;  he  could  not 
have  withstood  it. 

He  saw  again  the  sudden  pallor  of  his  mother's 
sweet  face,  the  sudden  foreboding  in  her  eyes. 

"  If  you  loved  her  'twould  drive  you  mad  and 
make  you  forget  what  you  must  be." 

"  Yes,"  he  cried,  putting  his  hand  suddenly  to 
his  brow,  feeling  it  damp,  "  it  has  driven  me  mad, 
I  think — mad.  I  am  not  the  same  man !  The 
torture  is  too  great.  I  could — I  could — nay  ! 
nay  !  "  with  half  a  shudder.  "  Let  me  not  forget, 
mother ;  let  me  not  forget." 

Through  this  visit  he  must  be  a  gracious  host ;  a 
score  of  other  guests  would  aid  him  by  sharing  his 
attentions  ;  her  ladyship,  as  new  wredded  bride, 
would  be  the  central  figure  of  the  company.  Her 
lord's  love  for  him  and  unconsciousness  of  any  sus 
picion  of  the  truth  would  put  him  to  the  test  many 
a  time,  but  he  would  keep  his  word  to  himself,  the 
vow  he  made  to  avoid  nearness  to  her  when  'twas 
to  be  done  with  any  graciousness,  and  her  eyes  he 
would  not  meet  in  more  than  passing  gaze  if  he 
could  be  master  of  his  own. 

"  If  I  look  straightly  at  her  my  own  gaze  will 
speak,  and  she,  who  is  so  shrewd  of  wit  and  has  seen 
such  worship  in  men's  faces,  will  read  and  under 
stand,  and  disdain  me,  or — disdain  me  not.  God 
knows  which  would  be  worse." 


266       HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

The  visit  over,  he  would  visit  other  of  his  es 
tates,  engage  himself  with  friends  to  be  their 
guests  in  Scotland,  Ireland,  and  Wales,  at  their 
chateaux  in  France  or  Spain — everywhere.  When 
he  was  not  thus  absorbed  he  would  give  himself 
to  a  statesman's  work  at  the  settling  of  great 
questions — the  more  involved  and  difficult  the 
better ;  party  enmity  would  be  good  for  him, 
the  unravelling  of  webs  of  intrigue,  the  baffling  of 
cabals  would  keep  his  thoughts  in  action,  and  leave 
him  no  time  for  dreams.  Yes,  to  mark  out  his 
days  thus  clearly  would  help  him  to  stand  steady 
upon  his  feet — in  time  might  aid  in  deadening  the 
burning  of  the  wound  which  would  not  close. 
Above  all,  to  Warwickshire  he  would  not  go — 
Dunstan's  Wolde  must  see  him  no  more,  and  Dun- 
stanwolde  House  in  town  he  would  gradually  visit 
less  and  less  often,  until  his  kinsman  ceased  to  ex 
pect  the  old  familiarity,  believing  his  many  duties 
kept  him  away.  In  his  happiness  he  would  have 
but  little  time  to  miss  him  seriously,  perhaps  even 
to  remember  that  his  presence  had  been  once  so 
much  less  rare  a  thing. 

"  '  Son,'  he  once  loved  to  call  me,"  he  thought, 
with  a  sharp  pang.  "  He  is  an  old  man,  'tis  true, 
but  Heaven  may  give  him  a  son  of  his  own." 

Even  as  the  thought  crossed  his  mind — as  a 
flame  of  lightning  crosses  a  black  sky — he  heard 
old  Rowe  begin  to  ring  his  peal,  and  soon — or  it 


HIS   GRACE  OF  OSMONDE      267 

seemed  soon  to  him — the  first  party  of  arrivals 
wound  through  the  park,  now  and  then  its  colours 
gleaming  through  an  opening  in  the  trees.  There 
were  mounted  and  safely  armed  servitors  riding 
in  attendance  to  guard  the  big  travelling-coach 
with  its  six  strong,  finely  bred  horses.  In  this  the 
Earl  and  his  Countess  sate,  the  lady  a  little  pale, 
from  the  fatigue  of  her  journey,  perhaps ;  follow 
ing  them  came  another  vehicle,  substantial  but 
less  splendid  than  their  own  equipage,  in  it,  my 
lady's  two  Abigails  and  the  gentleman  of  his  lord 
ship  carrying  the  iron  jewel-box  secreted  in  a 
special  hiding-place  beneath  the  seat,  for  the  baf 
fling  of  highwaymen,  if  any  such  were  bold 
enough  to  attack  a  party  so  well  attended  by 
sturdy  strength  and  shining  arms.  When  she  had 
stepped  forth  across  the  threshold  of  her  town 
house,  attended  by  subservient  lacqueys  bowing 
in  line  on  either  side,  the  Countess  had  faintly 
smiled,  and  when  they  had  entered  their  coach  and 
the  door  been  closed  upon  them,  she  had  turned 
this  smile  with  a  sweet  archness  upon  her  lord. 

"  I  smile,  my  Lord,"  she  said,  "  to  think  what  a 
great  lady  your  goodness  has  made  of  me,  and 
how  in  these  days  I  ride  forth,  and  how  in  the  past, 
when  I  was  but  Clo  Wildairs  our  old  chariot  lum 
bered  like  a  house  on  wheels,  and  its  leather  hung 
in  flaps,  and  the  larm  horses  pulled  it  lurching 
from  side  to  side,  and  old  Bartlemy  had  grown 


268      HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

too  portly  for  his  livery  and  cursed  when  it  split 
as  he  rolled  in  his  seat."  And  her  laugh  rang  out 
as  if  it  were  a  chime  of  bells,  and  her  lord,  laughing 
with  her — but  for  joy  in  her  arch  gayety — adored 
her. 

"  If  any  had  told  the  county  then  that  I  would 
one  day  ride  forth  like  this/'  says  she,  "  from  Dun- 
stanwolde  House  to  pay  visit  to  a  Duke  at  Camy- 
lott,  who  could  have  believed  it?  I  would  not 
myself.  And  'tis  you  who  have  given  me  all,  my 
dear  lord,"  laying  her  soft  hand  in  his.  "  You, 
Edward,  and  I  am  full  of  gratefulness." 

What  wonder  that  he  was  a  happy  man,  he  who 
had  hoped  for  so  little  and  had  found  so  much, 
since  she  did  not  think  —  as  a  slighter  woman 
might — that  her  youth  and  beauty  paid  for  and 
outweighed  his  richest  gifts,  but  was  heavenly  kind 
and  dutiful  and  tender,  giving  him  of  her  brightest 
humours  and  prettiest  playfulness  and  gentlest 
womanly  thought,  and  receiving  his  offerings,  not 
as  her  mere  right,  but  as  signals  of  his  generous- 
ness  and  tender  love  for  her. 

"  Look,  my  lady ! "  he  cried,  as  they  drove  up 
the  avenue,  "  see  what  a  noble  house  it  is ;  there 
is  no  other,  in  all  England,  of  its  size  and  beauty. 
And  Gerald  waits  to  receive  us  with  no  Duchess 
at  his  side." 

Her  ladyship  leaned  forward  to  look,  and  gazed 
a  moment  in  silence. 


HIS  GRACE  OF   OSMONDE      269 

"  There  should  be  one,"  she  cried,  "  to  reign 
over  such  a  place,  and  to  be  happy  in  it." 

The  village  saw  gayety  enough  to  turn  its  head 
in  the  two  weeks  that  followed.  The  flag  floated 
from  the  tower  every  day,  coaches  rolled  past  the 
village  green  laden  with  the  county  gentry  who 
came  to  pay  their  respects,  gay  cavalcades  rode 
down  the  avenue  and  through  the  big  gates  to 
gallop  over  the  country  with  joyous  laughter  and 
talk ;  at  the  Plough  Horse,  Mr.  Mount,  who  had 
grown  too  old  for  service,  but  had  been  pensioned 
and  was  more  fond  of  fine  stories  than  ever,  added 
to  his  importance  as  a  gentleman  of  quality  by  de 
scribing  the  banquets  at  the  Towers,  the  richness 
of  the  food,  the  endless  courses,  the  massiveness 
of  the  gold  plate,  the  rareness  of  the  wines,  and 
the  magnificence  of  the  costumes  of  the  guests. 

"  There  are  fine  women  there,"  he  would  say, 
removing  his  long  churchwarden's  pipe  from  his 
mouth  and  waving  it  to  give  emphasis.  "  In  my 
day  I  have  seen  King  Charles  at  Hampton  Court 
— my  Lady  Castlemaine,  and  Mistress  Frances 
Stewart,  who  married  a  Duke  and  had  her  eyes 
put  out  by  smallpox  and  her  face  spoiled  forever, 
poor  soul ;  and  De  Querouaille — the  one  you  will 
call  Carwell,  which  is  not  her  name,  but  a  French 
one — and  Mazarin — and  all  could  see  Nell  Gwynne 
who  could  pay  for  a  seat  in  the  play-house — so  I 


270      HIS   GRACE   OF  OSMONDE 

may  well  be  a  judge  of  women — and  have  lived 
gayly  myself  about  the  Court.  But  there  is  one — 
this  moment  at  Camylott  Towers — there  is  one," 
describing  a  great  circle  with  his  pipe  as  if  he  writ 
her  name,  "  and  may  the  devil  seize  and  smite  me, 
if  there  was  ever  a  lady  with  such  a  body  and 
face  on  earth  before." 

"  'Tis  the  tall  one  with  the  flashing  black  eyes," 
cried  out  Will  Bush  the  first  night  that  he  said  it. 
"  Me  and  my  dame  saw  her  through  the  glass  of 
the  coach  the  day  they  drove  over  the  green  with 
all  their  servants  come  to  follow  them  from  Lun- 
non  town  with  pistols  and  hangers.  And  what 
think  you  ?  says  I  to  Joan,  '  Ecod,'  says  I,  '  there's 
the  woman  for  our  own  Duke,  and  matches  him 
for  size  and  beauty  ! '  And  says  Joan,  staring : 
1  Lord  a  mercy,  so  she  is  and  does ! ' ' 

"  Village  folk,"  said  Mr.  Mount  with  decorum, 
"  are  not  the  ones  to  take  upon  themselves  the 
liberty  to  say  who  will  suit  a  Duke  or  who  will 
not  suit  him.  But  this  I  will  say  to  you,  that  for 
once  you  were  not  so  far  wrong;  I  having  said  the 
same  thing  myself.  And  his  Grace  is  a  single 
man,  whom  they  say  loves  no  woman — and  my 
lady  has  a  husband  near  seventy  years  of  age. 
So  things  go  !  " 

To  her  husband  and  lord,  this  lady  seemed  for 
all  her  powers,  the  sweetest,  frank  creature  in  the 
world,  and  indeed  in  all  matters  which  concerned 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      271 

their  united  life  she  was  candour  itself.  But  there 
was  a  thing  in  her  mind — and  'twas  in  her  thought 
every  day — of  which,  though  she  was  within  his 
sight  almost  every  waking  hour  and  her  head  lay 
upon  the  pillow  by  his  own,  when  she  slept,  he 
knew  nothing.  In  gaining  grace  of  manner  and 
bearing  she  had  not  lost  her  old  quickness  of  sight 
and  alertness  of  mind ;  if  any  felt  that  her  eyes 
were  less  keen,  her  perception  less  acute,  their 
error  was  a  grave  one.  Beneath  the  majesty  of 
her  Ladyship  of  Dunstanwolde  lay  all  the  fire  and 
flaming  spirit,  the  swiftness  to  deduce  and  act, 
which  had  set  Clo  Wildairs  apart  from  lesser  wom 
en.  So  it  was  that  she  had  not  been  three  hours 
at  Camylott  before  she  knew  that,  with  regard  to 
herself,  my  Lord  Duke  of  Osmonde  had  made 
some  strong  resolve.  No  other  than  herself  could 
have  detected,  she  knew,  but  on  her  first  glance 
at  his  face  she  beheld  it  written  there.  There 
are  human  beings,  it  is  sure,  whose  natures  are  so 
attuned  that  the  thoughts,  the  griefs,  the  passions 
of  each  are  reflected  upon  the  brain  of  the  other; 
and  'twas  thus  with  these  two  whom  life  thrust 
so  far  apart  from  one  another  and  yet  forced  so 
near.  At  their  first  meeting  on  the  threshold  and 
in  the  midst  of  his  warm  and  gracious  welcome 
she  read  what  none  other  could  read,  and  felt  a 
pang  which  yet  was  gladness.  'Twas  better  so— 
her  strength  should  aid  his  own,  his  greatness 


272       HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

should  support  her.  There  was  no  question  in 
her  mind,  no  argument,  only  a  sudden  recognition 
of  the  truth  that  up  to  this  time  she  had  scarcely 
allowed  herself  mere  thought  in  connection  with 
him,  that — after  the  first  hour — when  thought  had 
risen  she  had  thrust  it  back,  forbidden  its  being, 
denied  its  presence. 

"  Thought  will  not  help,"  she  had  said  once, 
when,  as  she  had  sate  alone,  she  had  felt  hot,  pas 
sionate  tears  start  to  her  eyes,  and  she  had  flung 
down  her  book,  risen  from  her  chair,  and  left  the 
room  ten  minutes  later,  riding  forth  from  the 
court  followed  by  her  groom  and  making  for  the 
country  roads. 

From  the  earliest  days  of  her  marriage  she  had 
herself  avoided  often  meeting  his  gaze.  Glances 
would  not  help  either,  but  would  do  harm  and  be 
tray — between  those  who  are  drawn  together  as 
by  some  force  of  Nature,  glances  are  mad  things. 
They  may  begin  calmly,  they  may  swear  that  they 
will  so  continue,  but  looks  entangle  one  day  and 
catch  fire,  and,  once  alight,  the  flame  cannot  ex 
tinguish  itself,  even  when  it  would. 

At  Camylott  each  was  gracious  to  the  other,  he 
gracious  host,  she  gracious  guest  and  kinswoman, 
and  those  who  looked  on  praised  each  one  and 
honoured,  speaking  often  of  their  charm  and  court 
ly  friendliness,  which  indeed  made  them  seem  al 
most  like  brother  and  sister. 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      273 

"  They  are  a  strange  pair,  those  two  fine  creat 
ures,"  said  the  old  Dowager  Storms  one  day  to 
her  favourite  crony,  an  elderly  matron  to  whom 
she  could  safely  talk  gossip.  "  But  look  at  them." 
(They  were  with  the  whole  party  at  racquets  in 
the  court,  and  my  lord  Duke,  having  made  a 
splendid  stroke,  glowing  and  laughing  bowed  in 
response  to  a  round  of  applause.)  "  Is  there  a 
husband  at  Court — though  he  were  not  thirty-five 
— who  has  reason  to  feel  as  safe  as  the  old  Earl 
Dunstanwolde  may — when  his  wife  is  guest  to 
such  a  pretty  fellow  as  he  ?  "  nodding  her  head 
towards  his  Grace.  "  Never  in  my  days  saw  I  a 
thing  so  out  of  nature !  'Tis  as  though  they  were 
not  flesh  and  blood,  but — but  of  some  stuff  we  are 
not  made  of.  'Tis  but  human  he  should  make  sly 
love  to  her,  and  her  eyes  wander  after  him  de 
spite  herself  wheresoever  he  goes.  All  know  how 
a  woman's  eyes  will  follow  a  man,  and  his  hers, 
but  when  these  look  at  each  other  'tis  steadfast 
honesty  that  looks  out  of  them — and  'tis  scarce 
to  be  understood. 


18 


CHAPTER  XXI 
Upon  the  Moor 

THROUGHOUT  the  festivities  which  followed 
each  other,  day  by  day,  my  Lady  Dunstanwolde 
was  queen  of  every  revel.  'Twas  she  who  led  the 
adventurous  party  who  visited  the  gipsy  encamp 
ment  in  the  glen  by  moonlight,  and  so  won  the 
heart  of  the  old  gipsy  queen  that  she  took  her  to 
her  tent  and  instructed  her  in  the  mysteries  of 
spells  and  potions.  She  walked  among  them  as 
though  she  had  been  bred  and  born  one  of  their 
tribe,  and  came  forth  from  one  tent  carrying  in 
her  arms  a  brown  infant,  and  showed  it  to  the 
company,  laughing  like  a  girl  and  making  pretty 
sounds  at  the  child  when  it  stared  at  her  with 
great  black  eyes  like  her  own,  and  shook  at  it  all 
her  rings,  which  she  stripped  from  her  fingers, 
holding  them  in  the  closed  palm  of  her  hand  to 
make  a  rattle  of.  She  stirred  the  stew  hanging  to 
cook  over  the  camp-fire,  and  begged  a  plate  of  it 
for  each  of  the  company,  and  ate  her  own  with 
such  gay  appetite  as  recalled  to  Osmonde  the  day 
he  had  watched  her  on  the  moor ;  and  the  gipsy 
women  stood  by  showing  their  white  teeth  in  their 
pleasure,  and  the  gipsy  men  hung  about  with 

274 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

black  shining  eyes  fixed  on  her  in  stealthy  admira 
tion.  She  stood  by  the  fire  in  the  light  of  the 
flame,  having  fantastically  wound  a  scarlet  scarf 
about  her  head,  and  'twas  as  though  she  might 
have  been  a  gipsy  queen  herself. 

"  And  indeed,"  she  said,  as  they  rode  home,  "  I 
have  often  enough  thought  I  should  like  to  be  one 
of  them ;  and  when  I  was  a  child,  and  was  in  a 
passion,  more  than  once  planned  to  stain  my  face 
and  run  away  to  the  nearest  camp  I  could  come 
upon.  Indeed,  I  think  I  was  always  a  rebel  and 
loved  wild,  lawless  ways." 

When  she  said  it  my  lord  Duke,  who  was  riding 
near,  looked  straight  before  him,  with  face  which 
had  belied  his  laugh,  had  any  seen  it.  He  was 
thinking  that  he  could  well  imagine  what  a  life 
a  man  might  lead  with  her,  wandering  about  the 
thick  green  woods  and  white  roads  and  purple 
moors,  tramping,  side  by  side,  in  the  sweet  wind 
and  bright  sunshine,  and  even  the  soft  falling  rain, 
each  owner  of  a  splendid  body  which  defied  the 
weather  and  laughed  at  fatigue.  To  carry  their 
simple  meal  with  them  and  stop  to  eat  it  joyously 
together  under  a  hedge,  to  lie  under  the  shade  of 
a  broad  branched  tree  to  rest  when  the  sun  was 
hot  and  hear  the  skylarks  singing  in  the  blue  sky, 
and  then  at  night-time  to  sit  at  the  door  of  a  tent 
and  watch  the  stars  and  tell  each  other  fanciful 
stories  of  them,  while  the  red  camp-fire  danced 


276       HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

and  glowed  in  the  dark.  Of  no  other  woman 
could  he  have  had  such  a  wild  fancy — the  others 
were  too  frail  and  delicate  to  be  a  man's  comrades 
out  of  doors ;  but  she,  who  stood  so  straight  and 
strong,  who  moved  like  a  young  deer,  who  could 
swing  along  across  the  moors  for  a  day  without 
fatigue,  who  had  the  eye  of  a  hawk  and  a  spirit  so 
gay  and  untiring — a  man  might  range  the  world 
with  her  and  know  joy  every  moment.  'Twas  or 
dained  that  all  she  did  or  said  should  seem  a  call 
to  him  and  should  bring  visions  to  him,  and  there 
was  many  an  hour  when  he  thanked  Heaven  she 
seemed  so  free  from  fault,  since  if  she  had  had  one 
he  could  not  have  seen  it,  or  if  he  had  seen,  might 
have  loved  it  for  her  sake.  But  she  had  none,  it 
seemed,  and  despite  all  her  strange  past  was  surely 
more  noble  than  any  other  woman.  She  was  so 
true — he  told  himself— so  loyal  and  so  high  in  her 
honour  of  the  old  man  who  loved  her.  Had  she 
even  been  innocently  light  in  her  bearing  among 
the  men  who  flocked  about  her,  she  might  have 
given  her  lord  many  a  bitter  hour,  and  seemed  re 
gardless  of  his  dignity ;  but  she  could  rule  and  re 
strain  all,  howsoever  near  they  were  to  the  brink 
of  folly.  As  for  himself,  Osmonde  thought,  all  his 
days  he  had  striven  to  be  master  of  himself,  and 
felt  he  must  remain  so  or  die ;  but  he  could  have 
worshipped  her  upon  his  knees  in  gratitude  that 
no  woman's  vanity  tempted  her  to  use  her  powers 


HIS  GRACE   OF  OSMONDE      277 

and  loveliness  to  shake  him  in  his  hard  won  calm 
ness  and  lure  him  to  her  feet.  He  was  but  man  and 
human,  and  vaunted  himself  upon  being  no  more. 

There  had  been  for  some  months  much  talk  in 
town  of  the  rapid  downfall  of  the  whilom  favour 
ite  of  Fashion,  Sir  John  Oxon.  But  a  few  weeks 
before  the  coming  happiness  of  the  old  Earl 
of  Dunstanwolde  was  made  known  to  the  worldy 
there  had  been  a  flurry  of  gossip  over  a  ru 
mour  that  Sir  John,  whose  fortunes  were  in  a 
precarious  condition,  was  about  to  retrieve  them 
by  a  rich  marriage.  A  certain  Mistress  Isabel 
Beaton,  a  young  Scotch  lady,  had  been  for  a  year 
counted  the  greatest  fortune  in  the  market,  and 
besieged  by  every  spendthrift  or  money-seeker 
the  town  knew.  Not  only  was  she  heiress  to  fine 
estates  in  Scotland,  but  to  wealth-yielding  sugar 
plantations  in  the  West  Indies.  She  was  but  twen 
ty  and  had  some  good  looks  and  an  amiable  tem 
per,  though  with  her  fortune,  had  she  been  ugly  as 
Hecate,  she  would  have  had  more  suitors  than  she 
could  manage  with  ease.  But  she  was  not  easily 
pleased,  or  of  a  susceptible  nature,  and  'twas 
known  she  had  refused  suitor  after  suitor,  among 
them  men  of  quality  and  rank,  the  elegant  and 
decorous  Viscount  Wilford,  among  others,  having 
knelt  at  her  feet,  and — having  proffered  her  the 
boon  of  his  lofty  manner  and  high  accomplishments 


278      HIS  GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

— having  been  obliged  to  rise  a  discarded  man,  to 
his  amazement  and  discomfort.  The  world  she 
lived  in  was  of  the  better  and  more  respectable 
order,  and  Jack  Oxon  had  seen  little  of  it,  finding 
it  not  gay  and  loose  enough  for  his  tastes,  but 
suddenly,  for  reasons  best  known  to  himself  and  to 
his  anxious  mother,  he  began  to  appear  at  its  de 
corous  feasts.  'Twas  said  of  him  he  "  had  a  way  " 
with  women  and  could  make  them  believe  any 
thing  until  they  found  him  out,  either  through 
lucky  chance  or  because  he  had  done  with  them. 
He  could  act  the  part  of  tender,  honest  wor 
shipper,  of  engaging  penitent,  of  impassioned  and 
romantic  lover  until  a  woman  old  and  wise  enough 
to  be  his  mother  might  be  entrapped  by  him,  aid 
ed  as  he  was  by  his  beauty,  his  large  blue  eyes, 
his  merry  wit,  and  the  sweetest  voice  in  the  world. 
So  it  seemed  that  Mistress  Beaton,  who  was 
young  and  had  lived  among  better  men,  took  him 
for  one  and  found  her  fancy  touched  by  him.  His 
finest  allurements  he  used,  verses  he  writ,  songs 
he  made  and  sang,  poetic  homilies  on  disinter 
ested  passion  he  preached,  while  the  world  looked 
on  and  his  boon  companions  laid  wagers.  At 
last  those  who  had  wagered  on  him  won  their 
money,  those  who  had  laid  against  him  lost,  for 
'twas  made  known  publicly  that  he  had  won  the 
young  lady's  heart,  and  her  hand  and  fortune 
were  to  be  given  to  him. 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE       279 

This  had  happened  but  a  week  or  two  before  he 
had  appeared  at  the  ball  Avhich  celebrated  young 
Colin's  coming  of  age,  and  also  by  chance  the  an 
nouncement  of  the  fine  match  to  be  made  of  Mis 
tress  Clorinda  Wildairs.  'Twas  but  like  him, 
those  who  knew  him  said,  that  though  he  himself 
was  on  the  point  of  making  a  marriage,  he  should 
burn  with  fury  and  jealous  rage,  because  the 
beauty  he  had  dangled  about  had  found  a  hus 
band  and  a  fortune.  Some  said  he  had  loved 
Mistress  Clorinda  with  such  passion  that  he  would 
have  wed  her  penniless  if  she  would  have  taken 
him,  others  were  sure  he  would  have  married  no 
woman  without  fortune,  whatsoever  his  love  for 
her,  and  that  he  had  but  laid  dishonest  siege  to 
Mistress  Clo  and  been  played  with  and  flouted  by 
her.  But  howsoever  this  might  have  been,  he 
watched  her  that  night,  black  with  rage,  and  went 
back  to  town  in  an  evil  temper.  Perhaps  'twas 
this  temper  undid  him,  and  being  in  such  mood  he 
showed  the  cloven  foot,  for  two  weeks  later  all 
knew  the  match  was  broken  off,  Mistress  Beaton 
went  back  to  her  estates  in  Scotland,  his  cred 
itors  descended  upon  him  in  hordes,  such  of  his 
properties  as  could  be  seized  were  sold,  and  in 
a  month  his  poor,  distraught  mother  died  of 
a  fever  brought  on  by  her  disappointment  and 
shame. 

Another  story  was  told  in  solution  of  the  sud- 


280      HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

den  breaking  off  the  match,  and  'twas  an  ugly  one 
and  much  believed. 

A  wild  young  cousin  of  the  lady's,  one  given  tc 
all  the  adventures  of  a  man  about  town,  had  gone 
to  Tyburn,  as  was  much  the  elegant  fashion,  to 
see  a  hanging.  The  victim  was  a  girl  of  sixteen, 
to  suffer  for  the  murder  of  her  infant,  and  as  she 
went  to  the  gallows  she  screamed  aloud  in  frenzy 
the  name  of  the  child's  father.  The  young  scape 
grace  looking  on,  'twas  said,  turned  pale  on  hear 
ing  her  and  went  into  the  crowd,  asking  questions. 
Two  hours  later  he  appeared  at  his  cousin's  house 
and,  calling  for  her  guardian,  held  excited  speech 
with  him. 

"  Mistress  Isabel  fell  like  a  stone  after  ten  min 
utes'  talk  with  them,"  'twas  told,  "  and  looked  like 
one  when  she  got  into  her  travelling-coach  to 
drive  away  next  day.  Sir  John  and  his  mother 
had  both  raged  and  wept  at  her  door  to  be  let  in, 
but  she  would  see  or  speak  to  neither  of  them." 

From  that  time  it  seemed  that  all  was  over  for 
Sir  John.  He  was  far  worse  than  poor  and  in 
debt,  he  was  out  of  fashion,  and  for  a  man  like  him 
self  this  meant  not  only  humiliation,  but  impotent 
rage.  Ladies  no  longer  ogled  him  and  com 
manded  the  stopping  of  their  chairs  that  they 
might  call  him  to  them  with  coquettish  re 
proaches  that  he  neither  came  to  their  assemblies 
nor  bowed  and  waved  hands  to  them  as  he  sate 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE       281 

on  the  stage  at  the  playhouse ;  beaux  no  longer 
joined  him  in  the  coffee-house  or  on  the  Mall  to 
ask  his  opinion  of  this  new  beauty  or  that,  and 
admire  the  cut  of  his  coat,  or  the  lace  on  his 
steenkirk ;  the  new  beauty's  successes  would  not 
be  advanced  by  his  opinion — a  man  whom  trades 
people  dun  from   morn  till  night  has  few  addi 
tions  to  his  wardrobe  and  wears  few  novelties  in 
lace.      Profligacy   and   defiance    of    all   rules   of 
healthful   living  had  marred  his  beauty  and  de 
graded  his  youth;  his  gay  wit  and  spirit  had  de 
serted  him  and  left  him  suspicious  and  bitter.    He 
had  been  forced  to  put  down  his  equipages  and 
change  his  fashionable  lodgings  for  cheaper  ones; 
when  he  lounged  in  the  park  his  old  acquaint 
ances  failed  to  see  him  ;  when  he  gambled  he  lost. 
Downhill  he  was  going,  and  there  was  naught  to 
stop  him.     For  one  man  in  England  he  had,  even 
in  his  most  flourishing  days,  cherished  a  distaste 
— the  man  who  was  five  inches  taller  than  him 
self,  who  was  incomparably  handsomer,  and  whose 
rank  was  such,  that  to  approach  him  as  an  equal 
would  have  savoured  of  presumption.     This  man, 
who  was  indeed  my  Lord  Duke  of  Osmonde,  had 
irked  him  from  the  first,  and  all  the  more  when 
he  began  to  realise  that  for  some  reason,  howso 
ever  often  they  chanced  to  be  in  the  same  place, 
it  invariably  happened  that  they  did  not  come  in 
contact  with  each  other,  Sir  John  on  no  occasion 


282       HIS   GRACE   OF  OSMONDE 

be'.ig  presented  to  my  lord  Duke,  his  Grace  on 
no  occasion  seeming  to  observe  his  presence  near 
him.  At  the  outset  this  appeared  mere  accident, 
but  after  a  few  such  encounters  ending  in  nothing, 
Sir  John  began  to  guess  that  'twas  the  result  of 
more  than  mere  chancing,  and  in  time  to  mark  that, 
though  he  was  not  clumsily  avoided,  or  in  such 
manner  as  would  leave  any  room  for  complaint, 
my  lord  Duke  forebore  to  enter  into  any  conver 
sation  in  which  he  took  part,  or  to  approach  any 
quarter  where  he  was  stationed.  Once  Sir  John 
had  even  tried  the  experiment  of  addressing  an 
acquaintance  who  stood  near  his  Grace,  meaning 
to  lead  up  to  a  meeting,  but  though  the  Duke 
did  not  move  from  the  place  where  he  stood,  in  a 
few  moments  he  had,  with  ease  and  naturalness, 
gathered  about  him  a  circle  which  'twould  have 
been  difficult  indeed  to  enter.  Sir  John  went 
away  livid,  and  hated  and  sneered  at  him  from 
that  hour,  all  the  more  bitterly,  because  no  hatred 
was  a  weapon  against  him,  no  sneer  could  do 
more  than  glance  from  him,  leaving  no  scratch. 
'Twas  plain  enough,  the  gossips  said,  that  Sir 
John's  passion  for  her  ladyship  of  Dunstanwolde 
had  not  been  a  dead  thing  when  he  paid  his  court 
to  the  heiress;  if  for  a  little  space  he  had 
smothered  it  from  necessity's  sake,  it  had  begun 
to  glow  again  as  soon  as  he  had  been  left  a  free 
man,  and  when  my  lady  came  to  town  and  Court, 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE       283 

surrounded  by  the  halo  of  rank  and  wealth  and 
beauty,  the  glow  had  become  a  flame  he  could 
not  hide,  for  'twas  burning  in  his  eyes  and  his 
every  look  spoke  of  it  as  if  with  bitterness. 

It  scarcely  seemed  a  flame  of  love ;  'twas  to  be 
seen  so  often  when  he  looked  fierce  and  resentful. 

"  Tis  more  than  half  envy  of  her,"  said  one  wise 
lady,  who  had  passed  through  a  long  life  of  varied 
experiences.  "  'Tis  more  hate  than  love.  His  star 
having  set,  it  galls  him  that  hers  so  rises.  And  as 
for  her,  she  scarce  will  deign  to  see  him." 

And  this  was  very  true,  for  she  had  a  way  of 
passing  him  by  as  if  he  did  not  live.  And  none  but 
herself  knew  that  sometimes,  when  he  stood  near, 
he  spoke  low  to  her  words  she  disdained  to  answer. 
There  were  many  bitter  things  she  held  in  mind 
which  were  secret  from  all  others  upon  earth,  she 
thought,  but  from  himself  and  her  who  had  been 
Clo  Wildairs  in  days  gone  by,  when,  as  it  now 
seemed  to  her,  she  had  been  another  woman  living 
in  another  world.  There  were  things  she  under 
stood  which  the  world  did  not,  and  she  understood 
full  well  the  meaning  of  his  presence  when  she, 
with  the  ducal  party,  came  face  to  face  with  him 
at  the  great  ball  given  in  the  county  town  when 
the  guests  were  gathered  at  Camylott. 

The  night  was  a  festal  one  for  the  county,  the 
ball  being  given  in  honour  of  a  great  party  move 
ment,  his  Grace  and  his  visitors  driving  from 


284      HIS   GRACE   OF  OSMONDE 

Camylott  to  add  to  the  brilliance  of  the  festivities. 
The  Mayor  and  his  party  received  them  with 
ceremony,  the  smaller  gentry,  who  had  come  at 
tired  in  their  richest,  gathered  in  groups  gazing, 
half  admiring,  half  envious  of  the  more  stately 
splendour  of  the  Court  mantua-makers  and  jewel 
lers.  The  officers  from  the  garrison  assumed  a 
martial  air  of  ease  as  the  cortege  advanced  up  the 
ballroom,  and  every  man's  eyes  were  drawn  to 
wards  one  tall  goddess  with  a  shining  circlet  set  on 
raven-black  braids  of  hair  coiled  high,  yet  twist 
ed  tight,  as  if  their  length  and  thickness  could 
only  be  massed  close  enough  by  deftest  skill. 

"  Tis  said  'tis  near  six  feet  long,"  whispered  one 
matron  to  another ;  "  and  a  rake  at  Court  wagered 
he  would  show  a  lock  of  it  in  town  some  day,  but 
he  came  back  without  it." 

Sir  John  Oxon  had  come  with  a  young  officer, 
and  stood  near  him  as  the  ducal  party  approached. 
The  Countess  of  Dunstanwolde  was  on  his  Grace's 
arm,  and  Sir  John  made  a  step  forward.  Her 
ladyship  turned  her  eyes  slowly,  attracted  by  the 
movement  of  a  figure  so  near  her ;  she  did  not 
start  nor  smile,  but  let  her  glance  rest  quiet  on  his 
face  and  curtsied  calmly  ;  my  lord  Duke  bowed 
low  with  courtly  gravity,  and  they  passed  on. 

When  the  ball  was  at  an  end,  and  the  party  set 
out  on  its  return  to  Camylott,  the  Duke  did  not 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      285 

set  out  with  the  rest,  he  being  at  the  last  moment 
unexpectedly  detained.  This  he  explained  with 
courtly  excuses,  saying  that  he  would  not  be  long 
held,  and  would  mount  and  follow  in  an  hour. 

He  stood  upon  the  threshold  to  watch  the  last 
chariot  leave  the  courtyard,  and  then  he  made  his 
way  to  a  certain  supper-room,  where  a  lingering 
party  of  officers  and  guests  were  drinking.  These 
being  of  the  young  and  riotous  sort,  there  was 
much  loud  talk  and  laughter  and  toasting  of  la 
dies,  sometimes  far  from  respectfully,  and  Sir  John 
Oxon,  who  was  flushed  with  wine,  was  the  central 
figure,  and  toasted  her  ladyship  of  Dunstanwolde 
with  an  impudent  air. 

"  Tis  not  my  lady  I  drink  to,"  he  cried,  "  but 
Clo  Wildairs — Clo  astride  a  hunter  and  with  her 
black  hair  looped  under  her  hat.  Clo !  Clo  ! " 
And  with  a  shout  the  company  drank  to  the  toast. 

"  There  was  a  lock  of  that  black  hair  dipt 
from  her  head  once  when  she  knew  it  not,"  Sir 
John  cried  next.  "  Twas  lost,  by  God,  but  'twill 
be  found  again.  Drink  to  its  finding." 

Then  my  lord  Duke  stepped  forward  and,  pass 
ing  the  open  door,  went  through  the  house  and 
out  beyond  the  entrance  of  the  court  and  waited 
in  a  place  where  any  who  came  forth  must  pass. 
He  had  but  gone  within  to  see  that  Sir  John  had 
not  yet  taken  his  departure. 

There  be  deeps  in  the  nature  of  human  beings 


286      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

which  in  some  are  never  stirred,  possibilities  of 
heroism,  savagery,  passion,  or  crime,  and  when 
the  hour  comes  which  searches  these  far  secret 
caverns  and  brings  their  best  and  worst  to 
light,  strange  things  may  be  seen.  On  the  night, 
at  Dunstanwolde,  when  he  had  fought  his  battle 
alone,  my  lord  Duke  had  realised  the  upheaval  in 
his  being  of  frenzies  and  lawlessness  which  were 
strange  indeed  to  him,  and  which  he  had  after 
wards  pondered  deeply  upon,  tracing  the  germs 
of  them  to  men  whose  blood  had  come  down  to 
him  through  centuries,  and  who  had  been  un 
tamed,  ruthless  savages  in  the  days  when  a  man 
carried  his  life  in  his  hand  and  staked  it  reck 
lessly  for  any  fury  or  desire. 

Now  as  he  stood  and  waited,  his  face  was  white 
except  that  on  one  cheek  was  a  spot  almost  like 
a  scarlet  stain  of  blood ;  his  eyes  seemed  changed 
to  blue-black,  and  in  each  there  was  a  light  which 
flickered  like  a  point  of  flame  and  made  him  seem 
not  himself,  but  some  new  relentless  being,  for  far 
deeps  of  him  had  been  shaken  and  searched  once 
more. 

"  I  wait  here  like  a  brigand,"  he  said  to  himself 
with  a  harsh  laugh,  "  or  a  highwayman — but  he 
shall  not  pass." 

Then  Sir  John  crossed  the  courtyard  and  came 
forward  humming,  and  his  Grace  of  Osmonde 
advanced  and  met  him. 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      287 

"Sir  John  Oxon,"  he  said,  and  stood  still  and 
made  a  grave  bow. 

John  Oxon  started  and  then  stood  still  also,  star 
ing-  at  him,  his  face  flushed  and  malignant.  His 
Grace  of  Osmonde  was  it  who  had  gazed  above 
his  head  throughout  the  evening,  when  all  the 
country  world  might  see  ! 

"  Your  Grace  deigns  to  address  me  at  last,"  he 
said. 

"  Hitherto  there  has  been  no  need  that  either 
should  address  the  other,"  answers  my  lord  Duke 
in  a  steady  voice.  "  At  this  moment  the  neces 
sity  arises.  Within. there" — with  a  gesture — "I 
heard  you  use  a  lady's  name  impudently.  Earlier 
in  the  evening  I  also  chanced  to  hear  you  so  use 
it;  I  was  in  the  ball-room.  So  I  remained  behind 
and  waited  to  have  speech  with  you.  Do  not 
speak  it  again  in  like  manner." 

"  Must  I  not ! "  said  Sir  John,  his  blue  eyes 
glaring.  "  On  Clo  Wildairs's  name  was  set  no 
embargo,  God  knows.  Is  there  a  reason  why  a 
man  should  be  squeamish  of  a  sudden  over  my 
Lady  Dunstanwolde's?  'Tis  but  the  difference  of 
a  title  and  an  old  husband." 

"And  of  a  man  made  her  kinsman  by  marriage," 
said  my  lord  Duke,  "  who  can  use  a  sword." 

"  Let  him  use  it,  by  God !  "  cried  Sir  John,  and 
insensate  with  rage  he  laid  his  hand  upon  his 
own  as  if  he  would  draw  it. 


288       HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

"  He  will  use  it  and  is  prepared  to  do  so,  or 
he  would  not  be  here,"  the  Duke  answered.  "  We 
are  not  two  Mohocks  brawling  in  the  streets,  but 
two  gentlemen,  one  of  whom  must  give  a  lesson 
to  the  other.  Would  you  have  witnesses?" 

"  Curse  it,  I  care  for  none !  "  flamed  Sir  John. 
"  Let  the  best  man  give  his  lesson  now.  'Tis  not 
this  night  alone  I  would  be  even  for." 

The  Duke  measured  him  from  head  to  foot,  in 
every  inch  of  sinew. 

"  I  am  the  best  man,"  he  said ;  "  I  tell  you  be 
forehand." 

Sir  John  flung  out  a  jeering  laugh. 

"  Prove  it,"  he  cried.  "Prove  it.  Now  is  your 
time." 

"  There  is  open  moor  a  short  distance  away," 
says  his  Grace.  "  Shall  we  go  there  ?  " 

So  they  set  out,  walking  side  by  side,  neither 
speaking  a  word.  The  night  was  still  and  splen 
did,  and  just  upon  its  turn  ;  the  rich  dark-blue  of 
the  Heavens  was  still  hung  with  the  spangles  of 
the  stars,  but  soon  they  would  begin  to  dim,  and 
the  deepness  of  the  blue  to  pale  for  dawn.  A 
scented  freshness  was  in  the  air,  and  was  just  stir 
ring  with  that  light  faint  wind  which  so  often  first 
foretells  the  coming  of  the  morning.  When,  in 
but  a  few  minutes,  the  two  men  stood  stript  of 
their  upper  garments  to  their  shirts,  the  open  pur 
ple  heath  about  them,  the  jewelled  sky  above,  this 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE       289 

first  fresh  scent  of  day  was  in  their  lungs  and  nos 
trils.  That  which  stirred  John  Oxon  to  fury  and 
at  the  same  time  shook  his  nerve,  though  he  owned 
it  not  to  himself,  and  would  have  died  rather,  was 
the  singular  composure  of  the  man  who  was  his 
opponent.  Every  feature,  every  muscle,  every 
fibre  of  him  seemed  embodied  stillness,  and  'twas 
not  that  the  mere  physical  members  of  him  were 
still,  but  that  the  power  which  was  himself,  his 
will,  his  thought,  his  motion  was  in  utter  quiet, 
and  of  a  quiet  which  was  deadly  in  its  signifi 
cance  and  purpose.  'Twas  that  still  strength 
which  knows  its  power  and  will  use  it,  and  ever 
by  its  presence  fills  its  enemy  with  impotent  rage. 

With  such  rage  it  filled  John  Oxon  as  he  beheld 
it,  and  sneered.  He  had  heard  rumours  of  the 
wonders  of  his  Grace's  sword-play,  that  from  boy 
hood  he  had  excelled  and  delighted  in  it,  that  in 
the  army  he  had  won  renown,  through  mere  ex 
periments  of  his  skill,  that  he  was  as  certain  of  his 
weapon  as  an  acrobat  of  his  least  feat — but  'twas 
not  this  which  maddened  the  other  man  but  the 
look  in  his  steady  eye. 

"  You  are  the  bigger  man  of  the  two,"  he  jeered, 
impudently,  "  but  give  me  your  lesson  and  shut 
my  mouth  on  Clo  Wildairs — if  you  can." 

"  I  am  the  better  man,"  says  my  lord  Duke, 
"and  I  will  shut  it.  But  I  will  not  kill  you." 

Then  they  engaged,  and  such  a  fight  began  as 
19 


290      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

has  not  been  often  seen,  for  such  a  battle  is  more 
of  spirit  than  body,  and  is  more  like  to  be  fought 
alone  between  two  enemies  whose  antagonism  is 
part  of  being  itself,  than  to  be  fought  in  the  pres 
ence  of  others  whose  nearness  would  but  serve 
to  disturb  it. 

John  Oxon  had  fought  duels  before,  through 
women  who  were  but  his  despised  playthings, 
through  braggadocio,  through  drunken  folly, 
through  vanity  and  spite — but  never  as  he  fought 
this  night  on  the  broad  heath,  below  the  paling 
stars.  This  man  he  hated,  this  man  he  would  have 
killed  by  any  thrust  he  knew,  if  the  devil  had 
helped  him.  There  is  no  hatred,  to  a  mind  like  his, 
such  as  is  wakened  by  the  sight  of  another's  gifts 
and  triumphs — all  the  more  horrible  is  it  if  they 
are  borne  with  nobleness.  To  have  lost  all — to 
see  another  possess  with  dignity  that  thing  one 
has  squandered  !  And  for  this  frenzy  there  was 
more  than  one  cause.  Clo  Wildairs !  He  could 
have  cursed  aloud.  My  Lady  Dunstanwolde ! 
He  could  have  raved  like  a  madman.  She  !  And 
a  Duke  here — this  Duke  would  shut  his  mouth 
and  give  him  a  lesson.  He  lunged  forward  and 
struck  wildly ;  my  lord  Duke  parried  his  point 
as  if  he  played  with  the  toy  of  a  child,  and  in  the 
clear  starlight  his  face  looked  a  beautiful  mask, 
and  did  not  change  howsoever  furious  his  oppo 
nent's  onslaught,  or  howsoever  wondrous  his  own 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      291 

play.  For  wondrous  it  was,  and  before  they  had 
been  engaged  five  minutes  John  Oxon  was  a  mad 
dened  creature,  driven  so,  not  only  by  his  own 
fury,  but  by  seeing  a  certain  thing — which  was 
that  this  man  could  kill  him  if  he  would,  but 
would  not.  When  he  had  lost  his  wits  and  made 
his  senseless  lunge,  his  Grace  had  but  parried 
when  he  might  have  driven  his  point  home ;  he 
did  this  again  and  again  while  their  swords  clashed 
and  darted.  The  stamp  of  their  feet  sounded  dull 
and  heavy  on  the  moor,  and  John  Oxon's  breath 
came  short  and  hissing.  As  he  grew  more  wild 
the  other  grew  more  cool  and  steady,  and  made  a 
play  which  Sir  John  could  have  shrieked  out  at 
seeing.  What  was  the  man  doing  ?  'Twas  as  if 
he  would  show  him  where  he  could  strike  and  did 
not  deign  to.  He  felt  his  devil's  touch  in  a  dozen 
places,  and  not  one  scratch.  There  he  might  have 
laid  open  his  face  from  brow  to  chin  !  Why  did  he 
touch  him  here,  there,  at  one  point  and  another,  and 
deal  no  wound  ?  Gods  !  'twas  fighting  not  with  a 
human  thing  but  with  a  devil !  'Twas  like  fighting 
in  a  Roman  arena,  to  be  played  with  as  a  sport  un 
til  human  strength  could  bear  no  more ;  'twas  as 
men  used  to  fight  together  hundreds  of  years  ago. 
His  breath  grew  short,  his  panting  fiercer,  the 
sweat  poured  down  him,  his  throat  was  dry,  and 
he  could  feel  no  more  the  fresh  stirring  of  the  air 
of  the  dawning.  He  would  not  stop  to  breathe, 


292       HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

he  had  reached  the  point  in  his  insensate  fury 
when  he  could  have  flung  himself  upon  the  rapier's 
point  and  felt  it  cleave  his  breastbone  and  start 
through  his  back  with  the  joy  of  hell,  if  he  could 
have  struck  the  other  man  deep  but  once.  The 
thought  made  him  start  afresh ;  he  fought  like  a 
thousand  devils,  his  point  leaping  and  flashing, 
and  coming  down  with  a  crash ;  he  stamped  and 
gasped  and  shouted. 

"  Curse  you,"  he  cried  ;  "  come  on  !  " 
"  Do  I  stand  back?"  said  my  lord  Duke,  and 
gave  him  such  play  as  made  him  see  the  air  red 
as  blood,  and  think  he  tasted  the  salt  of  blood  in 
his  dry  mouth ;  his  muscles  were  wrenched  with 
his  violence,  and  this  giant  devil  moved  as  swift 
as  if  he  had  but  just  begun.  Good  God  !  he  was 
beaten !  Good  God  !  by  this  enemy  who  would 
not  kill  him  or  be  killed.  He  uttered  a  sound 
which  was  a  choking  shriek  and  hurled  himself 
forward.  'Twas  his  last  stroke  and  he  knew  it, 
and  my  lord  Duke  struck  his  point  aside  and  it 
flew  in  the  air,  and  Sir  John  fell  backwards  broken, 
conquered,  exhausted,  but  an  unwounded  man. 
And  he  fell  full  length  and  lay  upon  the  heather, 
its  purple  blooms  crushed  against  his  cheek ;  and 
the  sky  was  of  a  sweet  pallor  just  about  to  glow, 
and  the  first  bird  of  morning  sprang  up  in  it  to 
sing. 

"Damn  you  !  "  he  gasped.     "  Damn  you,"  and 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE       293 

lay  there,  his  blue  eyes  glaring,  his  chest  heaving 
as  though  'twould  burst,  his  nostrils  dilated  with 
his  laboured,  tortured  puffs  of  breath.  Thereupon, 
as  he  lay  prostrate,  for  he  was  too  undone  a  man 
to  rise,  he  saw  in  his  Grace  of  Osmonde's  eyes  the 
two  points  of  light  which  were  like  ruthless  flames 
and  yet  burned  so  still. 

And  his  Grace,  standing  near  him,  leaned  upon 
his  sword,  looking  down. 

"  Do  you  understand  ?"  he  said. 

"That  you  are  the  better  sword  —  Yes!" 
shrieked  Sir  John,  and  added  curses  it  were  use 
less  to  repeat. 

"  That  I  will  have  you  refrain  from  speaking 
that  lady's  name  ?  " 

"  Force  me  to  it,  if  you  can,"  Sir  John  raved  at 
him.  "  You  can  but  kill  me  ! " 

"  I  will  not  kill  you,"  said  the  Duke,  leaning  a 
little  nearer  and  the  awful  light  in  his  eyes  growing 
intenser — for  awful  it  was  and  made  his  pale  face 
deadly.  "  How  I  can  force  you  to  it  I  have  shown 
you — and  brought  you  here  to  prove.  For  that, 
I  meant  that  we  should  fight  alone.  Myself,  I 
knew,  I  could  hold  from  killing  you,  howsoever 
my  blood  might  tempt  me.  You,  I  knew,  I  could 
keep  from  killing  me,  which  I  knew  you  would 
have  done  if  you  could,  by  foul  means  if  not  fair. 
I  would  not  have  it  said  I  was  forced  to  fight  to 
shield  that  lady's  name — so  I  would  have  no  wit- 


294      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

ness  if  it  could  be  helped.  And  you  will  keep  the 
encounter  secret,  for  I  command  you." 

Sir  John  started  up,  leaning  upon  his  elbow, 
catching  his  breath,  and  his  wicked  face  a  white 
flame. 

"  Curse  you ! "  he  shrieked  again,  blaspheming 
at  a  thing  he  had  not  dreamed  of,  and  which 
came  upon  him  like  a  thunderbolt.  "  Curse  your 
soul — you  love  her ! " 

The  deadly  light  danced — he  saw  it — in  his 
Grace's  eyes,  but  his  countenance  was  a  marble 
mask  with  no  human  quiver  of  flesh  in  any  muscle 
of  it. 

"  I  command  you,"  he  went  on  ;  "  having  proved 
I  can  enforce.  I  have  the  blood  of  savage  devils 
in  me,  come  down  to  me  through  many  hundred 
years.  All  my  life  I  have  kept  them  at  bay. 
Until  late  I  did  not  know  how  savage  they  were 
and  what  they  could  make  me  feel.  I  could  do  to 
you,  as  you  lie  there,  things  a  man  who  is  of  this 
century,  and  sane,  cannot  do.  You  know  I  can 
strike  where  I  will.  If  you  slight  that  lady's  name 
again  I  will  not  kill" — he  raised  himself  from  his 
sword  and  stood  his  full  height,  the  earliest  gold 
of  the  sun  shining  about  him — "  I  will  not  kill 
you,  but — so  help  me  God ! — I  will  fight  with  you 
once  more,  and  I  will  leave  you  so  maimed  and  so 
disfigured  that  you  can  woo  no  woman  to  ruin  again 
and  jest  at  her  shame  and  agony  with  no  man — 


HIS   GRACE   OF  OSMONDE       295 

for  none  can  bear  to  look  at  you  without  a  shud 
der — and  you  will  lie  and  writhe  to  be  given  the 
coup  de  grace"  He  lifted  the  hilt  of  his  sword 
and  kissed  it.  "That  I  swear,"  he  said,  "by  this 
first  dawning  of  God's  sun." 

When  later  my  lord  Duke  returned  to  the 
town  and  got  his  horse  and  rode  across  the  moors 
the  shortest  road  to  Camylott,  he  felt  suddenly 
that  his  body  was  slightly  trembling.  He  looked 
down  at  his  hands  and  saw  they  were  unsteady, 
and  a  strange  look — as  of  a  man  slowly  awakening 
from  a  dream — came  over  his  face.  'Twas  this  he 
felt — as  if  the  last  two  hours  he  had  lived  in  a 
dream  or  had  been  another  man  than  himself, 
perhaps  some  bloody  de  Mertoun,  who  had  for 
ages  been  dry,  light  dust.  The  devils  which  had 
been  awake  in  him  had  been  devils  so  awful  as  he 
well  knew — not  devils  to  possess  and  tear  a  man  in 
the  days  of  good  Queen  Anne,  but  such  as,  in 
times  long  past,  possessed  those  who  slew,  and 
hacked,  and  tortured,  and  felt  an  enemy  a  prey  to 
be  put  to  peine  forte  et  dure.  He  drew  his  glove 
across  his  brow  and  found  it  damp.  This  dream 
had  taken  hold  upon  him  three  hours  before,  when, 
standing  by  chance  near  a  group  about  John 
Oxon,  he  had  heard  him  sneer  as  the  old  Earl 
went  by  with  his  lady  upon  his  arm.  From  that 
moment  his  brain  had  held  but  one  thought — this 


296      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

man  should  not  go  away  until  he  had  taught  him 
a  thing.  He  would  teach  him,  proving  to  him  that 
there  was  a  power  which  he  might  well  fear,  and 
which  would  show  no  mercy,  not  even  the  mercy 
mere  death  would  show,  but  would  hold  over  his 
vile  soul  a  greater  awfulness.  But  he  had  danced 
his  minuets  and  gavottes  with  my  Lady  Dunstan- 
wolde  as  well  as  with  other  fair  ones,  and  the 
country  gentry  had  looked  on  and  applauded  him 
in  their  talk,  telling  each  other  of  his  fortunes,  and 
of  how  he  had  had  a  wound  at  Blenheim,  dis 
tinguished  himself  elsewhere,  and  set  the  world 
wondering  because  after  his  home-coming  he  took 
no  Duchess  instead  of  choosing  one,  as  all  expected. 
While  they  had  so  talked  and  he  had  danced  he 
had  made  his  plan,  and  his  devils  had  roused 
themselves  and  risen.  And  then  he  had  made  his 
excuses  to  his  party  and  watched  the  coaches 
drive  away,  and  had  gone  back  to  seek  John 
Oxon.  Now  he  rode  back  over  the  moorland, 
and  the  day  was  awake  and  he  was  awake  too. 
He  rode  swiftly  through  the  gorse  and  heather, 
scattering  the  dewdrops  as  he  went ;  thousands  of 
dewdrops  there  were,  myriads  of  pinkish  purple 
heath-bells,  and  some  pure  white  ones,  and  yellow 
gorse  blossoms  which  smelt  of  honey,  and  birds 
that  trilled,  and  such  a  morning  fragrance  in  the 
air  as  made  his  heart  ache  for  vague  longing. 
Ah,  if  all  had  been  but  as  it  might  have  been, — 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE       297 

for  there  were  the  fair  grey  towers  of  Camylott 
rising  before  him,  and  he  was  riding  homeward — 
and,  oh,  God,  if  he  had  been  riding  home  to  the 
arms  of  the  most  heaven-sweet  woman  in  the 
world — heaven-sweet  not  for  her  mere  loveliness' 
sake,  but  because  she  was  to  him  as  Eve  had  been 
to  Adam — the  one  woman  God  had  made.  i 

His  heart  swelled  and  throbbed  with  thinking 
it  as  he  rode  up  the  avenue,  and  its  throbbing  al 
most  stopped  when  he  approached  the  garden  and 
saw  a  tall  white  figure  standing  alone  by  a  foun 
tain  and  looking  down.  He  sprang  from  his 
horse  and  turned  it  loose  to  reach  its  stable,  and 
went  forward  feeling  as  if  a  dream  had  begun 
again,  but  this  time  a  strange,  sweet  one. 

Her  long  white  draperies  hung  loose  about  her, 
so  that  she  looked  like  some  statue ;  her  hands 
were  crossed  on  her  chest  and  her  chin  fell  upon 
them,  while  her  eyes  looked  straight  before  into 
the  water.  She  was  pale  as  he  had  never  seen  her 
look  before,  her  lip  had  a  weary  curve  and  droop, 
and  under  her  eyes  were  shadows.  How  young 
she  was — what  a  girl,  for  all  her  height  and  bear 
ing  !  and  though  he  knew  her  years  so  well  he  had 
never  thought  on  her  youth  before.  Would  God 
he  might  have  swept  her  to  his  breast,  crushing 
her  in  his  arms  and  plunging  into  her  eyes,  for  as 
she  turned  and  raised  them  to  him  he  saw  tears. 

"  Your  ladyship,"  he  exclaimed. 


298       HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

"  My  lord  has  been  ill,"  she  said.  "  He  asked 
for  you,  and  when  he  fell  asleep  I  came  to  get  the 
morning  air,  hoping  your  Grace  might  come.  I 
must  go  back  to  him.  Come,  your  Grace,  with 
me." 


CHAPTER  XXII 
My  Lady  Dunstanwolde  is  Widowed 

THERE  was  a  lady  came  back  to  town  with  the 
Earl  and  Countess,  on  their  return  from  Dunstan's 
Wolde,  to  which  place  they  had  gone  after  his 
lordship's  illness  at  Camylott.  This  lady  was  one 
of  the  two  elder  sisters  of  her  ladyship  of  Dun- 
stanswolde,  and  'twas  said  was  her  favourite  and 
treated  with  great  tenderness  by  her.  She  was 
but  a  thin,  humble  little  woman — Mistress  Anne 
Wildairs — and  singularly  plain  and  timid  to  be  the 
sister  and  chosen  companion  of  one  so  brilliant  and 
full  of  fire.  She  was  a  pale  creature  with  dull- 
hued  heavy  hair  and  soft  dull  eyes,  which  followed 
her  ladyship  adoringly  whensoever  it  chanced 
they  were  in  a  room  together. 

"  How  can  two  beings  so  unlike  be  of  the  same 
blood?"  people  said;  "and  what  finds  my  lady  in 
her  that  she  does  not  lose  patience  at  her  plain 
ness  and  poor  spirit  ?  " 

What  she  discovered  in  her,  none  knew  as  she 
herself  did  ;  but  my  Lord  Dunstanwolde  under 
stood  the  tie  between  them,  and  so  his  Grace  of 
Osmonde  did,  since  an  occasion  when  he  had  had 
speech  with  her  ladyship  upon  the  subject. 

299 


300       HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

"  I  love  her,"  she  said,  with  one  of  her  strange, 
almost  passionate,  looks.  "  Tis  thought  I  can 
love  neither  man  nor  woman.  But  that  I  can  do, 
and  without  change;  but  I  must  love  a  thing  not 
slight  nor  common.  Anne  was  the  first  creature 
to  teach  me  what  love  meant.  Before,  I  had 
never  seen  it.  She  was  afraid  of  me  and  often 
thought  I  mocked  at  her,  but  I  was  learning  from 
her  pureness — from  herpureness,"  she  added,  say 
ing  the  words  the  second  time  in  a  lower  voice 
and  almost  as  if  to  herself.  And  then  the  splendid 
sweet  of  her  smile  shone  forth.  "  She  is  so  white 
— good  Anne,"  she  said.  "  She  is  a  saint  and  does 
not  know  I  pray  to  her  to  intercede  for  me,  and 
that  I  live  my  life  hoping  that  some  day  I  may 
make  it  as  fair  as  hers.  She  does  not  know,  and 
I  dare  not  tell  her,  for  she  would  be  made  afraid." 

To  Mistress  Anne  she  seemed  in  truth  a  goddess. 
Until  taken  under  her  protection,  the  poor  wom 
an  had  lived  a  lonely  life,  starved  of  all  pleasures 
and  affections.  At  first — 'twas  in  the  days  when 
she  had  been  but  Clo  Wildairs — her  ladyship  had 
begun  to  befriend  her  through  a  mere  fanciful 
caprice,  being  half-amused,  half-touched,  to  find 
her,  by  sheer  chance,  one  day,  stolen  into  her 
chambers  to  gaze  in  delighted  terror  at  some  ball 
finery  spread  upon  a  bed.  To  Mistress  Clorinda 
the  frightened  creature  had  seemed  a  strange  thing 
in  her  shy  fearfulness,  and  she  had  for  an  hour 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      301 

amused  herself  and  then  suddenly  been  vaguely 
moved,  and  from  that  time  had  been  friends  with 
her. 

"  Perhaps  I  had  no  heart  then,  or  'twas  not 
awake,"  said  her  ladyship.  "  I  was  but  a  fierce, 
selfish  thing-,  like  a  young  she-wolf.  Is  a  young 
she-wolf  honest  ?  "  with  a  half-laugh.  "  I  was  that, 
and  feared  nothing.  I  ate  and  drank  and  sang 
and  hunted  poor  beasts  for  my  pleasures,  and  was 
as  wild  as  one  of  them  myself.  When  I  look 
back!" — she  flung  up  a  white  hand  in  a  strange 
gesture — "When  I  look  back!" 

"  Look  forward  !  "  said  my  lord  Duke  ;  "  'tis  the 
nobler  thing." 

"  Yes,"  she  repeated  after  him,  fixing  her  great 
eyes  gravely  on  his  face  and  speaking  slowly. 
"  Tis  sure  the  nobler  thing." 

And  then  he  heard  from  her  how,  day  by  day, 
poor  Anne  had  revealed  to  her  things  strange — 
unselfishness,  humble  and  tender  love,  and  sweet 
patience. 

"At  first  I  but  wondered,"  she  said,  "and  sate 
and  would  stare  at  her  while  she  talked.  And 
then  I  pitied  her  who  was  so  meek,  and  then  I  was 
angered  at  Fortune,  which  had  been  so  careless 
of  her,  and  being  a  rebel  I  began  to  defy  Fate  for 
her  and  swear  I  would  set  its  cruelty  at  naught 
and  make  her  happy.  Always,"  with  quick  leap 
of  light  in  her  eyes,  "  I  have  hated  that  they  call 


302       HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

Fate,  and  defied  it.  There  is  a  thing  in  me,"  her 
closed  hand  on  her  breast,  "  which  will  not  be  beat 
down!  It  wit! not.  If 'tis  evil,  Heaven  help  me 
— for  it  will  not.  But  Anne " — and  she  smiled 
again,  her  face  changing  as  it  always  did  when 
she  spoke  her  sister's  name — "  Anne  I  began  to 
love  and  could  not  help  it,  and  she  was  the 
first." 

This  gentlewoman  my  lord  Duke  did  not  for 
some  time  see  but  on  rare  occasions,  at  a  distance. 
In  her  ladyship's  great  gilt  coach  he  saw  her  once 
or  twice — a  small,  shrinking  figure  seated  by  her 
sister's  side,  the  modest  pale  brown  of  her  lute 
string  robe  a  curious  contrast  to  my  lady's  velvets 
and  brocades ;  at  the  play-house  he  saw  her  seated 
in  the  Countess'  box,  at  which  a  score  of  glasses 
were  levelled,  her  face  lighted  with  wonder  and 
pleasure  at  the  brighter  moments  of  the  tragedy, 
her  soft  eyes  full  of  tears  when  the  curtain  fell 
upon  the  corpse-strewn  stage.  If  Mistress  Anne 
had  known  that  so  great  a  gentleman  looked  at 
her  gentle  face  and  with  an  actual  tenderness 
near  to  love  itself,  she  would  indeed  have  been 
a  startled  woman,  yet  'twas  with  a  feeling  like  to 
this  his  Grace  regarded  her,  thinking  of  her  in 
time  as  a  sort  of  guardian  angel.  The  sweetest 
words  he  had  ever  heard  from  the  lips  of  her  he 
worshipped  with  such  sad  and  hopeless  passion, 
were  words  spoken  of  Mistress  Anne  ;  the  sweet- 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      303 

est  strange  smile  he  had  ever  seen  her  wear  was 
worn  when  she  spoke  of  this  meek  sister;  the 
sweetest  womanly  deeds  he  knew  of  her  perform 
ing  were  thoughtful  gentlenesses  done  for  the 
cherishing  and  protection  of  Anne.  "  Anne  was 
the  first  creature  to  teach  me  what  love  meant," 
she  said. 

"  I  could  have  taught  you,  Heart,"  was  his  se 
cret  thought;  "  I  could  have  taught  you,  but  since 
I  might  not,  God's  blessing  on  this  dear  soul 
whose  tender  humbleness  was  your  first  lesson." 
Yet  Mistress  Anne  he  did  not  encounter  in  person 
until  the  occurring  of  the  sad  event  which  changed 
for  him  the  whole  face  of  the  universe  itself,  and 
which  took  place  a  year  or  more  after  his  kins 
man's  marriage.  The  resolution  his  Grace  had 
made  the  day  he  waited  at  Camylott  for  his  guests' 
arrival,  he  had  kept  to  the  letter,  and  this  often  to 
the  wonder  of  his  lordship  of  Dunstanwolde,  who 
found  cause  for  regret  at  the  rareness  of  his  vis 
its  to  his  lady  and  himself  under  their  own  roof. 
Other  visits  my  lord  Duke  had  made,  as  he  had 
planned,  passing  from  one  great  house  to  another 
in  Great  Britain,  or  making  stay  at  the  estates  of 
his  friends  upon  the  continent  of  Europe.  Some 
times  he  was  in  Scotland,  sometimes  in  Ireland 
or  Wales,  hunting,  salmon-fishing,  the  chief  guest 
at  great  reunions,  everywhere  discussed  and  en 
vied  his  freedom  from  any  love  affair,  entangle- 


304       HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

ment,  or  connection  with  scandal,  always  a  thing 
which  awakened  curiosity. 

"  The  world  will  have  you  married,  Gerald," 
said  Dunstanwolde.  "  And  'tis  no  wonder  !  My 
lady  and  I  would  find  you  a  Duchess.  I  think  she 
looks  for  one  for  you,  but  finds  none  to  please  her 
taste.  She  would  have  a  wondrous  consort  for 
you.  You  do  wrong  to  roam  so.  You  should 
come  to  Dunstan's  Wolde  that  she  may  have  you 
beneath  her  eye." 

But  to  Dunstan's  Wolde  he  did  not  go — not  even 
when,  in  obedience  to  her  lord's  commands,  the 
Countess  herself  besought  him  with  gracious  hos 
pitality. 

To  their  town  house  he  went  but  seldom,  plead 
ing  as  reason,  affairs  which  occupied  his  time, 
journeys  which  removed  him  to  other  parts.  But 
to  refuse  to  cross  the  threshold  was  impossible ; 
accordingly  there  were  times  when  he  must  make 
visits  of  ceremony,  and  on  one  such  occasion  he 
found  her  ladyship  alone,  and  she  conveyed  to  him 
her  husband's  message  and  his  desire  that  she 
herself  should  press  his  invitation. 

'Twas  upon  a  winter  afternoon,  and  when  my 
lord  Duke  was  announced  he  entered  the  saloon, 
to  behold  my  lady  sitting  by  the  firelight  in  a 
carven  gilded  chair,  her  eyes  upon  the  glowing 
coals,  her  thoughts  plainly  preoccupied.  On 
hearing  his  name  she  slightly  started,  and  on  his 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      305 

entry  rose  and  gave  him  her  soft  warm  hand, 
which  he  did  not  kiss  because  its  velvet  so  wooed 
him  that  he  feared  to  touch  it  with  his  lips.  'Twas 
not  a  hand  which  he  could  touch  with  simple 
courtesy,  but  must  long  to  kiss  passionately,  and 
over  and  over  again,  and  hold  close  with  whis 
pered  words. 

"  My  lord  has  but  just  left  me,"  she  said.  "  He 
will  be  almost  angry  at  the  chance  which  led  him  to 
go  before  your  coming.  The  last  hour  of  our  talk 
was  all  of  your  Grace  ; "  and  she  sat  upright 
against  the  high  back  of  her  chair.  And  why  was 
it  that,  while  she  sat  so  straight  and  still,  he  felt 
that  she  held  herself  as  one  who  needs  support  ? 
"  The  last  hour  of  our  talk  was  all  of  you,"  she 
said  again,  and  oh,  the  velvet  of  her  eyes  was  ask 
ing  him  for  some  aid,  some  mercy ;  and  his  soul 
leaped  in  anguish  as  he  saw  it.  "  He  says  I  must 
beguile  you  to  be  less  formal  with  us.  Before  our 
marriage,  he  tells  me,  your  Grace  came  often  to 
Dunstan's  Wolde,  and  now  you  seem  to  desert 
us." 

"  No,  no ! "  exclaimed  my  lord  Duke,  as  if  invol 
untarily,  and  rose  from  his  seat  and  stood  looking 
down  into  the  fire. 

"  I  told  him  you  would  exclaim  so ! "  said  my 
lady,  and  her  low-pitched  voice  was  a  thing  to 
make  a  man  tremble.  "  I  know  your  Grace  loves 
him — I  think  any  heart  must  love  him " 

20 


306      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

My  lord  Duke  turned  and  looked  at  her.  Their 
eyes  rested  on  each  other  and  spoke. 

"  I  thank  your  Ladyship,"  he  said,  "  that  you  so 
understood.  I  pray  you  let  him  not  think  I  could 
at  any  time  feel  less  tender  of  his  goodness." 

But  what  his  whole  being  impelled  him  to,  was 
to  throw  himself  upon  his  knees  before  her  like  a 
boy,  to  lay  his  face  upon  her  little  hands  which 
rested  open  upon  her  lap,  and  to  cry  to  her  that 
there  were  hours  when  he  could  bear  no  more. 
And  could  it  have  been  that  if  he  had  so  done  she 
would  have  bent  her  dear  head  and  wept — for  her 
voice,  when  she  answered  him,  had  surely  tears 
in  it. 

"I  will  not  let  him  think  so,"  she  said.  "A 
heart  as  full  of  gentleness  and  warmth  as  his 
must  not  be  chilled.  I  will  use  all  my  power. 
Your  Grace  has  much  to  do  about  the  Queen  at 
this  time  of  disturbance  and  cabal.  Her  Grace 
of  Marlborough's  angers,  the  intrigues  of  Harley 
and  St.  John,  the  quarrels  of  Mrs.  Masham,  make 
such  a  turmoil  that  you,  whom  her  Majesty  loves, 
must  be  preoccupied."  She  laid  a  hand  softly 
upon  her  breast.  "  He  will  believe  all  that  I  say," 
she  said.  "  His  kindness  is  so  great  to  me." 

"  He  loves  you,"  said  my  lord  Duke,  his  voice 
low  and  grave.  "  You  are  so  generous  and  noble 
a  lady  to  him." 

"  He  is  so  generous  and  noble  a  husband,"  my 


HIS   GRACE   OF  OSMONDE      307 

Lady  Dunstanwolde  answered.  "  He  thinks  I 
need  but  ask  a  favour  to  find  it  granted.  Twas 
because  he  thinks  so  that  he  begged  me  to  my 
self  speak  with  you,  to  ask  you  to  come  to  War 
wickshire  next  week  when  we  go  there.  I — have 
asked  you." 

"  With  most  sweet  graciousness,"  my  lord 
Duke  answered  her.  "  That  I  myself  will  tell 
him."  And  then  he  stepped  to  her  side  and  lifted 
the  fair  hand  and  kissed  it  very  reverently,  and 
without  either  speaking  another  word  he  turned 
and  went  away. 

"  But  I  do  no  wrong,"  he  groaned  to  himself  as 
he  walked  in  a  private  room  of  his  own  house  af 
terwards.  "  I  do  no  wrong  if  I  go  not  near  her — 
if  I  have  no  speech  with  her  that  is  not  formal 
courtesy — if  I  only  look  on  her  when  she  does  not 
know  that  I  am  near.  And  in  seeing  her,  in  the 
mere  beholding  of  her  dear  face,  there  is  a  poor 
comfort  which  may  hold  a  man  from  madness — 
as  a  prisoner  shut  in  a  dungeon  to  perish  of 
thirst,  might  save  himself  from  death  if  he  found 
somewhere  in  the  blackness  a  rare  falling  drop 
and  could  catch  it  as  it  fell." 

So  it  befel  that  many  a  time  he  saw  her  when 
she  was  in  nowise  aware  of  his  nearness.  All  her 
incomings  and  outgoings  he  found  a  way  to  learn, 
when  she  left  town  for  the  country,  and  when  she 
returned,  what  fetes  and  assemblies  she  would  at- 


308      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

tend,  at  what  Court  gathering  she  would  shine,  at 
which  places  it  would  be  possible  that  he  might 
mingle  with  the  crowd  and  seem  to  be  but  where 
'twas  natural  he  should  appear,  if  his  presence 
was  observed.  To  behold  her  sweep  by  in  her 
chariot,  to  feel  the  heart  leap  which  announced 
her  coming,  to  catch  a  view  of  her  crimson  cheek, 
a  fleeting  glance  and  bow  as  she  passed  by,  was 
at  least  to  feel  her  in  the  same  world  with  himself, 
to  know  that  her  pulse  was  beating  still,  her  deep 
eyes  still  alight,  her  voice  still  music,  and  she  a 
creature  of  love,  though  not  for  himself. 

His  Grace  of  Marlborough,  returning  to  Eng 
land  after  Malplaquet,  himself  worn  with  the  fierce 
strain  of  war,  tossed  on  the  changing  waves  of 
public  feeling,  one  hour  the  people's  idol  the  next 
doubted  and  reproached,  was  in  such  mood  as 
made  him  keen  of  perception  and  of  feeling. 

"  Years  mark  changes  in  a  man,  my  lord  Duke," 
he  said  when  first  they  talked  alone,  "  even  before 
they  line  his  face  or  pale  his  bloom  of  health. 
Since  we  met  you  have  seen  some  hours  you  had 
not  seen  when  I  beheld  you  last.  And  yet" — 
with  ironic  bitterness — "  you  are  not  battling  with 
intrigues  of  Court  and  State,  with  the  ingratitude 
of  a  nation  and  the  malice  of  ladies  of  the  royal 
bedchamber.  "Pis  only  the  man  who  has  won 
England's  greatest  victories  for  her  who  must 
contend  with  such  things  as  these." 


HIS   GRACE  OF   OSMONDE      309 

"  Mrs.  Masham  has  no  enmity  against  me,"  said 
Osmonde.  "  I  have  no  power  she  would  take  from 
me." 

"  And  no  wife  she  would  displace  about  the 
throne,"  his  Grace  added.  "  The  world  waits  to 
behold  your  Duchess  still?" 

"  "Pis  I  who  wait,"  said  Osmonde,  gravely. 

There  was  a  pause,  and  while  it  lasted,  Marl 
borough  gazed  at  him  with  a  thought  dawning  in 
his  eye. 

"  You  have  seen  her,"  he  said  at  last,  in  a  low 
voice. 

Osmonde  remained  silent.  A  moment  before 
he  had  risen,  and  so  stood.  The  man  who  re 
garded  him  experienced  at  the  moment  a  singu 
lar  thing,  feeling  that  it  was  singular,  and  vague 
ly  asking  himself  why.  It  was  a  sudden  new 
realisation  of  his  physical  perfection.  His  tall, 
great  body  was  so  complete  in  grace  and  strength, 
each  line  and  muscle  of  it  so  fine  a  thing.  In  the 
workings  of  such  a  physical  being  there  could  be 
no  flaw.  There  was  such  beauty  in  his  counte 
nance,  such  strength  and  faithful  sweetness  in  his 
firm,  full  mouth,  such  pure,  strong  passion  in  the 
deeps  of  his  large,  kind,  human  eye.  The  hand 
somest  and  the  tallest  man  in  England  he  might 
be,  but  he  was  something  more — a  complete  noble 
human  thing,  to  whom  it  surely  seemed  that  nat. 
ure  should  be  kind,  since  he  had  so  honoured  and 


310      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

done  reverence  to  the  gifts  she  had  bestowed  upon 
him.  'Twas  this  his  illustrious  companion  saw 
and  was  moved  by. 

"  You  have  seen  her,"  he  said,  "  but — since  you 
wear  that  look  which  I  can  read — something  has 
come  between.  Had  you  two  bared  hearts  to 
each  other  for  but  one  hour,  as  'twas  ordained 
you  should,  you  would  stand  before  me  so  happy 
a  man  that  none  could  pass  you  by  and  not  turn 
to  behold  again  the  glow  of  the  flame  of  joy  burn 
ing  within  your  soul." 

My  Lord  Duke  of  Osmonde  drew  a  long,  deep 
breath  as  he  listened,  looking  down  upon  the 
ground. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  'twould  have  been  so." 

But  he  spoke  no  further  on  the  subject,  nor  did 
his  Grace  of  Marlborough,  for  suddenly  there 
came  to  him  a  certain  memory — which  was  that 
he  had  heard  that  the  beautiful  wild  creature  who 
had  set  Gloucestershire  on  fire  had  made  a  great 
marriage,  her  bridegroom  being  the  Earl  of  Dun- 
stanwolde,  who  was  the  Duke  of  Osmonde's  kins 
man.  And  it  was  she  he  himself  had  felt  was  born 
to  mate  with  this  man,  and  had  spoke  of  it  in 
Flanders,  finding  my  lord  Duke  had  seen  her  at  a 
distance  but  had  not  encountered  her  in  any  com 
pany.  And  at  last  it  seemed  that  they  had  met, 
but  not  until  she  had  given  herself  to  another. 

That  night  as  he  drove  homeward  after  an  in- 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      311 

terview  with  the  Queen  at  Kensington  his  coach 
rolled  through  a  street  where  was  a  great  house 
standing  alone  in  a  square  garden.  'Twas  a  house 
well  known  for  its  size  and  massive  beauty,  and 
he  leaned  forward  to  glance  at  it,  for  no  other  rea 
son  than  his  remembrance  that  it  was  the  home 
of  his  lordship  of  Dunstanwolde,  that  fact,  in 
connection  with  the  incident  of  the  morning, 
wakening  in  him  a  vague  interest. 

"  Tis  there  she  reigns  Queen,"  he  said,  "  with 
her  old  lord  worshipping  at  her  feet  as  old  lords 
will  at  the  feet  of  young  wives  and  beauties. 
Poor  gentleman — though  she  is  kind  to  him,  they 
say.  But  if  'twere  the  other  man— good  God  !  " 
As  he  uttered  the  exclamation  he  drew  back 
within  the  coach.  'Twas  long  past  midnight  and 
the  lights  of  Dunstanwolde  House  were  extin 
guished,  but  in  the  dark  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  street  there  walked  a  tall  figure  wrapped  in  a 
long  cloak. 

"  There  is  no  other  gentleman  of  such  inches  and 
so  straight,"  his  Grace  said.  "  Good  Lord !  how 
a  man  can  suffer  in  such  case,  and  how  we  are  all 
alike — schoolboys,  scullions,  or  Dukes — and  must 
writhe  and  yearn  and  feel  we  are  driven  mad,  and 
can  find  no  help  but  only  to  follow  and  look  at  her, 
yards  away,  or  crush  to  one's  lips  a  rag  of  ribband 
or  a  flower,  or  pace  the  night  away  before  her 
darkened  house  while  she  lies  asleep.  He  is  the 


312       HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

finest  man -thing  I  have  ever  known — and  yet 
there  is  no  other  way  for  him — and  he  will  walk 
there  half  the  night,  his  throat  full  of  mad  sobs, 
which  he  does  not  know  for  sobs,  because  he  is 
not  woman  but  tortured  man." 

Many  a  night  the  same  figure  had  walked  there 
in  the  darkness.  As  his  great  friend  had  said,  there 
was  no  other  way.  His  pain  had  grown  no  less, 
but  only  more  as  the  months  passed  by,  for  it  was 
not  the  common  pain  of  a  man  like  others.  As  he 
was  taller,  stronger,  and  had  more  brain  and  heart 
than  most,  he  had  greater  and  keener  pangs  to  do 
battle  with,  and  in  the  world  he  must  at  intervals 
be  thrown  across  her  path  and  she  across  his, 
and  as  he  had  been  haunted  by  talk  and  rumours 
of  her  in  the  years  before  he  was  haunted  now. 
'Twas  but  natural  all  should  praise  to  him  his 
kinsman's  wife,  sure  that  he  would  feel  pleasure 
when  he  heard  her  lauded. 

Women,  especially  such  as  are  great  ladies, 
have  not  at  their  command,  if  they  hide  pain  in 
secret,  even  the  refuges  and  poor  comforts  pos 
sessed  by  men.  They  may  not  feed  their  hungry 
souls  by  gazing  at  a  distance  upon  the  beloved 
object  of  their  heavy  thoughts;  they  cannot  pace 
the  night  through  before  a  dwelling,  looking  up 
as  they  pass  at  the  darkened  windows  behind 
which  sleeps — or  wakes — the  creature  their  hearts 
cry  to  in  their  pain ;  tears  leave  traces ;  faces  from 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE       313 

which  smiles  are  absent,  eyes  from  which  light  has 
fled,  arouse  query  and  comment.  My  lord  has  a 
certain  privacy  and  license  to  be  dull  or  gloomy, 
but  my  lady  cannot  well  be  either  without  ex 
plaining  herself,  either  by  calling  in  a  physician 
or  wearing  mourning,  or  allowing  the  world  to 
gain  some  hint  of  domestic  trouble  or  misfor 
tune. 

Her  ladyship  of  Dunstanwolde  was  surely  a 
happy  woman.  Having  known  neither  gayety  nor 
luxury  in  her  girlhood,  it  seemed  now  that  she 
could  give  her  lord  no  greater  pleasure  than  to 
allow  him  to  surround  her  with  both. 

"  She  is  more  dazzling  than  they  said,"  my  Lord 
Maryborough  thought,  watching  her  at  the  trag 
edy  one  night,  "  but  she  carries  with  her  a  thought 
of  something  she  would  forget  in  the  gayeties  of 
the  world." 

The  Duke  of  Osmonde  sate  in  his  own  box  that 
night  and  in  the  course  of  the  play  went  to  his 
kinsman's  for  a  few  moments  and  paid  his  respects 
to  her  ladyship,  who  received  him  graciously. 
This  his  Grace  of  Maryborough  beheld  but  did 
not  mark  her  soft  quick  aside  to  him. 

"  May  I  ask  your  Grace's  aid  ?  "  she  said.  "  Look 
at  my  lord.  His  kindness  to  me  will  not  let  him 
own  that  he  is  ailing.  He  will  not  remain  at  home 
from  these  festivities  because  he  knows  I  would 
remain  with  him.  I  beg  you  persuade  him  that 


31 4      HIS   GRACE  OF   OSMONDE 

he  is  wrong  and  but  makes  me  unhappy.  Your 
Grace  will  do  this?" 

"Your  Ladyship  may  trust  me,"  was  his  an 
swer.  Twas  then  that  his  Grace  of  Marlborough 
saw  him  turn  from  her  with  a  bow  and  go  to  sit 
by  her  husband,  who,  'twas  indeed  true,  looked 
this  night  older  than  his  years,  and  was  of  an 
ivory  pallor  and  worn.  'Twas  at  this  time  the 
Duke  marked  that  there  stood  upon  the  stage 
among  the  company  of  men  of  fashion,  idlers,  and 
young  fops  sitting  and  lounging  there,  a  man  at 
tired  in  peach-coloured  velvet,  whose  delicacy  of 
bloom,  combining  itself  with  the  fair  curls  which 
fell  upon  his  shoulders,  made  him  look  pale  and 
haggard.  He  was  a  young  man  and  a  handsome 
one,  but  had  the  look  of  an  ill  liver,  and  as  he 
stood  in  a  careless,  insolent  attitude  he  gazed 
steadfastly  and  with  burning  eyes  at  my  Lady 
Dunstanwolde. 

"  There  is  somewhat  devilish  in  his  air,"  his 
Grace  thought.  "  It  is  some  dissolute  dandy  in 
love  with  her  and  raging  against  her  in  his  soul. 
Heaven's  grace  !  how  she  sits  and  gazes  past  his 
impudent  face  with  her  great  eyes  as  if  he  were  not 
a  living  thing !  She  will  not  see  him,  and  he  can 
not  force  her  to  it,  she  so  holds  herself  in  hand." 

My  Lord  Dunstanwolde  gave  heed  to  his  kins 
man's  affectionate  appeals  and  counsellings  with 
the  look  of  a  man  tenderly  moved. 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      315 

"  Has  my  dear  lady  asked  you  to  talk  with 
me?"  he  said.  "  'Tis  but  like  her  generous  ob 
servance  of  me.  She  has  cautioned  me  most 
tenderly  herself,  and  begs  me  to  leave  the  gay- 
eties  of  town  and  go  with  her  to  the  country, 
where  she  says  we  will  be  happy  together  and 
she  will  be  my  nurse." 

"She  will  be  happier  with  you  at  Dunstan's 
Wolde  than  she  can  be  here,  where  she  is  con 
cerned  about  your  health,"  returned  Osmonde. 
"  That  I  can  see  plainly.  The  whirl  of  town  fes 
tivities  but  torments  her  when  she  sees  you  worn 
and  pale." 

"  Yes,"  answered  my  lord  with  a  very  tender 
smile,  "  I  am  sure  it  is  true,  and  there  is  one 
lovely  young  lady  with  the  world  at  her  feet  who 
is  heavenly  sweet  enough  to  give  her  youth  and 
bloom  willingly  to  the  care  of  an  old  husband." 

"  Tis  to  the  care  of  noble  tenderness  and  love 
she  is  willing  to  give  herself,"  said  Osmonde. 
11  She  is  a  Woman — a  Woman! " 

His  lordship  of  Dunstanwolde  turned  and 
looked  at  him  with  a  curious  interest. 

"  Gerald,"  he  said, "  'tis  singular  that  you  should 
speak  so,  though  you  say  so  true  a  thing.  Only 
a  few  weeks  since  he  and  I  spoke  of  yourself, 
and  her  own  words  of  you  were  those :  '  He  is  a 
Man — he  is  a  Man.  Nay,  he  is  as  God  meant 
Man  should  be.'  And  she  added  that  if  men  were 


316       HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

so,  there  would  be  women  great  enough  to  be 
their  mates  and  give  the  world  men  like  them. 
And  now — you  are  both  right,  Gerald ;  both  right. 
Sometimes  I  think — "  He  broke  his  sentence 
with  a  sigh  and  began  quick  again.  "  I  will  obey 
you,"  he  said ;  "  after  the  assembly  we  hold  next 
week  we  will  go  to  Dunstan's  Wolde.  You  will 
be  with  us  that  last  night,  Gerald  ?  " 

Osmonde  bowed,  smiling.  'Twas  to  be  a  great 
assembly,  at  which  Royalty  would  be  entertained, 
and  of  such  stateliness  and  ceremony  that  his  ab 
sence  would  have  been  a  thing  to  be  marked. 

"  Her  ladyship  has  chided  me  for  giving  so 
great  an  entertainment,"  said  the  Earl.  "She  is 
very  quaint  in  her  play  at  wifely  scolding.  Truth 
is,  I  am  an  uxorious  husband,  and  before  we  leave 
town  would  see  her  a  last  time  all  regal  and  blaz 
ing  with  her  newest  jewels;  reigning  over  my 
hospitalities  like  a  Queen.  Tis  a  childish  thing, 
no  doubt,  but  perhaps — perhaps — "  he  broke  his 
sentence  again  with  a  sigh  which  he  changed  to 
a  smile.  "You  will  be  there,"  he  said,  "and  you 
will  understand  the  meaning  of  my  weakness." 

On  the  night  of  this  great  assembly  at  Dunstan- 
wolde  House,  Mr.  Hammond,  my  lord  Duke's 
confidential  secretary,  and  the  Comptroller  of  his 
household,  sate  late  over  his  accounts.  He  was 
his  Grace's  attached  servant,  and  having  been  in 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE       317 

his  service  since  he  had  left  the  University  had 
had  time  and  opportunity  to  develop  a  strong  af 
fection  for  him,  and  a  deep  and  even  intimate  in 
terest  in  his  concerns.  'Twas  not  alone  an  interest 
in  the  affairs  of  his  estate,  but  in  himself  and  all 
that  touched  or  moved  him.  This  being  the  case 
he  also,  as  well  as  a  greater  man,  had  marked  a 
subtle  change  in  his  patron,  though  wherein  its 
nature  lay  he  could  scarcely  have  described  even 
to  himself. 

"  He  is  not  so  calm  a  creature,"  he  had  said 
to  himself,  striving  to  make  analysis  of  what  he 
thought  he  saw.  "  He  is  not  so  happy.  At  times 
when  he  sits  in  silence  he  looks  like  a  man  doing 
battle  with  himself.  Yet  what  could  there  be  for 
such  as  he  to  combat  with?" 

He  had  thought  of  this  very  thing  when  he  had 
seen  his  Grace  pass  to  his  coach  which  was  to 
bear  him  to  the  entertainment  at  his  kinsman's 
house.  The  man,  who  had  grown  used  to  silent 
observance  of  him,  had  seen  in  his  face  the  thing 
he  deplored,  while  he  did  not  comprehend  it. 

At  midnight  he  sate  in  his  room,  which  adjoined 
his  Grace's  study,  and  in  which  he  was  ever 
within  call. 

"  Tis  a  thing  perhaps  none  but  a  woman  could 
understand,"  he  said  to  himself  in  quiet  thought. 

The  clock  began  to  strike  twelve.  One — two — 
three — four — five — six 


318      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

But  the  rest  he  did  not  hear.  The  coach-wheels 
were  to  be  heard  rolling  into  the  courtyard.  His 
Grace  was  returning.  Mr.  Hammond  rose  from 
his  work,  prepared  to  answer  a  summons  should 
he  hear  one.  In  but  a  few  minutes  he  was  called 
and  entered  the  adjoining  room. 

My  lord  Duke  was  standing  in  the  centre  of  the 
apartment.  He  looked  like  a  man  who  had  met 
with  a  shock.  The  colour  had  fled  from  his  coun 
tenance,  and  his  eyes  were  full  of  pain. 

"Hammond,"  he  said,  "a  great  and  sudden 
calamity  has  taken  place.  An  hour  ago  my  Lord 
Dunstanwolde  was  struck  down — in  the  midst  of 
his  company — by  a  fatal  seizure  of  the  heart." 

"  Fatal,  your  Grace  ?  "  Mr.  Hammond  ejaculated. 

"  He  did  not  breathe  after  he  fell,"  was  my  lord 
Duke's  answer,  and  his  pallor  became  even  more 
marble-like  than  before,  as  if  an  added  coldness 
had  struck  him.  "  He  was  a  dead  man  when  I 
laid  my  hand  upon  his  heart." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 
Her  Ladyship  Returns  to  Town 

UPON  the  awful  occasion  of  his  kinsman's  sud 
den  death  in  the  midst  of  the  glittering  throng  of 
his  guests,  my  lord  Duke  had  spoken  for  the  first 
time  to  her  ladyship  of  Dunstanwolde's  sister,  the 
gentle  Mistress  Anne.  His  Grace  had  chanced 
to  encounter  this  lady  under  such  circumstances 
as  naturally  led  them  to  address  each  other,  and 
he  being  glad  to  have  speech  with  her  on  whom 
his  thoughts  had  dwelt  so  kindly,  had  remained 
in  attendance  upon  her,  escorting  her  through 
the  crowd  of  celebrities  and  leading  her  to  the 
supper-room  for  refreshment.  Had  she  been 
wholly  a  stranger  to  him,  she  was  one  who  would 
have  appealed  to  his  heart  and  touched  it,  she 
was  so  slight  and  modest  a  creature,  her  eyes  so 
soft  and  loving  and  her  low  voice  so  timid.  Such 
women  always  moved  him  and  awakened  in  him 
that  tenderness  the  weak  should  always  waken  in 
the  strong.  But  Mistress  Anne  did  more ;  seeming 
to  him,  when  she  spoke  of  her  sister  or  looked  at 
her,  surely  the  fondest  creature  Nature  had  ever 
made. 

"  I  understand  now,"  his  Grace  had  said  to  her 
319 


320      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

as  they  talked,  "  why  her  ladyship  says  that  'twas 
you  who  first  taught  her  what  love  meant." 

A  soft  colour  flooded  Mistress  Anne's  whole 
face  as  she  lifted  it  to  look  at  him  who  stood  so 
tall  above  her  smallness. 

"  Did  she  so  ?  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Did  she  so  ?  " 
And  her  soft  dull  eyes  seemed  about  to  fill  with 
tears. 

"  Truly  she  did,  madam,"  he  answered  with 
warm  feeling,  "and  added,  too,  that  until  you 
taught  her  she  had  never  before  beheld  it." 

«  I — oh,  I  am  grateful ! "  said  Mistress  Anne. 
"  I  never  dreamed  that  I—  But  in  these  days,  she 
hath  a  way  of  always  saying  that  which  makes 
one  happy." 

"  She  loves  and  leans  on  you,"  my  lord  Duke 
said,  and  there  was  sudden  emotion  in  his  voice. 

"  Leans  !  "  cried  Mistress  Anne  with  a  kind  of 
loving  fright ;  "  Anne — on  Anne  !  " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  answered.  "  I  have  seen  it — felt 
it !  Your  pardon  for  my  boldness.  You  will  never 
forget !  " 

And  at  that  very  moment  his  attention  had  been 
caught  by  the  look  on  his  kinsman's  face — they 
chancing  to  be  near  his  lordship  ;  and  he  had  seen 
him  sway  and  fall  in  the  midst  of  a  terrified  group, 
which  uttered  a  low  simultaneous  cry. 

After  his  attendance  at  the  funeral  ceremonies, 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE       321 

which  took  place  in  Warwickshire,  his  Grace  of 
Osmonde  did  not  return  at  once  to  town,  but 
went  to  Camylott  that  in  the  midst  of  the  quiet 
loveliness  he  might  be  alone. 

"  I  must  have  time  to  think,"  he  said  ;  "  to  still 
my  brain  which  whirls — to  teach  it  to  under 
stand." 

Oh !  the  heavenly  stillness  and  beauty  of  the 
afternoon  when  he  rode  up  the  avenue  on  his 
home  -  coming1 !  His  home-coming  !  Yes,  'twas 
that  he  called  it  in  his  thought,  and  for  the  first 
time  since  his  parents'  death  it  seemed  so.  In  the 
tenderness  of  his  heart  and  for  the  sake  of  his 
long  and  true  love  for  his  dead  kinsman,  he  scarce 
dared  explain  to  himself  why  he  now  could  use 
this  word  and  could  not  before — and  yet,  he  felt 
that  in  the  depths  of  his  being  the  thought  lay 
that  at  last  he  was  coming  home. 

"  God  forgive  me  if  there  is  lack  of  kindness  in 
it,"  he  cried  to  himself.  "  Kinsman,  forgive  me  ! 
Nay,  you  know  now  and  will  have  pity.  I  am  but 
man  and  young,  and  have  so  madly  loved  and 
been  so  tortured.  Now  I  may  look  into  her  eyes 
and  do  no  wrong,  but  only  great  Love's  bidding. 
My  blood  beats  in  my  veins — my  heart  leaps  up 
so  and  will  not  be  still." 

'Twas  deep  autumn  and  a  day  of  gold — the  sun 
set  burned  and  flamed  and  piled  the  sky  with 
golden  mountains  such  as  had  heaped  upon  each 

21 


322       HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

other  on  the  evening  he  had  stood  with  his 
mother  at  the  Long  Gallery  window  before  their 
last  parting  ;  the  trees'  branches  were  orange  and 
amber  and  russet  brown,  the  moors  had  gold 
hues  on  them,  and  on  the  terraces  the  late  flowers 
blooming"  blazed  crimson  and  yellow  as  if  the 
summer  had  burned  all  paler  and  less  sumptuous 
colour  away.  The  gables  and  turrets  of  the  tower 
rose  clear  soft  grey,  or  dark  with  ivy,  against  a 
sky  of  deepest  blue,  the  broad  tree-studded  acres 
of  the  park  rolled  yellowing  green  to  Camylott 
village,  where  white  cottages  nestled  among  or 
chards  and  fields  of  corn  and  were  enfolded  by 
wooded  hills  and  rising  moorland  Occasional 
farm-yard  sounds  were  to  be  heard  mingled  now 
and  then  with  voices  and  laughter  of  children, 
rooks  cawed  in  the  high  tree-tops  with  a  lazy  ir 
regularity,  and  there  was  an  autumn  freshness  in 
the  ambient  air.  In  the  courtyard  the  fountain 
played  with  a  soft  plashing,  and  as  he  rode  in 
some  little  birds  were  chirping  and  fluttering  as 
they  drank  and  flirted  the  water  with  their  wings. 
The  wide  doors  were  thrown  open,  showing  the 
beauteous  huge  hall  with  its  pictures  and  warm 
colours,  its  armour  and  trophies  of  the  chase  ;  the 
servants  stood  waiting  to  receive  him,  and  as  the 
groom  took  his  horse,  Mr.  Fox  approached  to 
greet  him  on  the  threshold.  Every  face  had 
kindly  welcome  in  it,  every  object  seemed  to  re- 


HIS   GRACE   OF  OSMONDE      323 

call  some  memory  which  belonged  to  his  happi 
est  youth — to  those  years  when  all  had  been  so 
warm  and  fair. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  later,  as  he  stood  at  the  window 
in  the  Long  Gallery  and  looked  forth.  "  God 
grant  I  have  come  home." 

What  hours,  what  days  and  nights  he  spent  in 
the  weeks  that  followed.  In  truth  they  were  too 
full  of  intense  feeling  to  be  wholly  happy.  Many 
a  night  he  woke  trembling  from  dreams  of  an 
guish.  There  were  three  dreams  which  came 
again  and  again — one  was  of  the  morning  when 
she  galloped  past  him  in  the  narrow  lane  with  the 
strange  look  in  her  eyes,  and  he  never  dreamed  it 
without  a  nightmare  sense  of  mad  despair  and  loss 
from  which  his  own  wild  cry  to  her  would  wake 
him  ;  another  was  of  the  night  she  passed  him  on 
the  stair,  and  did  not  see  him.  Oh,  God  (for 
'twas  in  this  wise  the  dream  always  came),  she 
did  not  see  him.  She  passed  him  by  again.  And 
there  was  left  only  the  rose  lying  at  his  feet.  And 
he  should  never  see  her  face  again  !  And  one  was 
of  the  night  he  spent  in  his  room  alone  at  Dun- 
stan's  Wolde — the  night  when  he  had  torn  the 
laces  from  his  throat  that  he  might  breathe,  and 
had  known  himself  a  frenzied  man — while  her 
happy  bridegroom  to  be  had  slept  and  dreamed 
of  her. 

From  such  dreams  he  would  waken  with  an  un- 


324       HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

reasoning  terror — a  nightmare  in  itself — a  sense 
that  even  now,  even  when  both  were  free  and  he 
had  seen  that  in  her  eyes  his  soul  sought  for  and 
cried  out  to — even  now  some  Fate  might  come  be 
tween  and  tear  them  apart,  that  their  hearts  should 
never  bea"t  against  each  other — never!  And,  in 
truth,  cold  sweat  would  break  forth  on  his  body 
and  he  would  spring  from  his  bed  and  pace  to 
and  fro,  lighting  the  tapers  that  he  might  drive 
the  darkness  from  him. 

"  Naught  shall  come  between ! "  he  would  cry. 
"  Naught  under  God's  Heaven — naught  on  Gods' 
earth !  No  man,  nor  fate,  nor  devil !  " 

For  he  had  borne  his  burden  too  long,  and  even 
for  his  strength  and  endurance  its  heaviness  had 
been  too  great. 

In  these  weeks  of  solitude  at  Carnylott  he 
thought  much  of  him  who  had  passed  from  earth, 
of  the  years  they  had  been  friends,  of  the  days 
they  had  ridden  through  the  green  lanes  together 
or  walked  in  the  Long  Gallery,  he  himself  but  a 
child,  the  other  his  mature  and  affectionate  com 
panion.  He  had  loved  and  been  beloved,  and  now 
he  was  gone,  leaving  behind  him  no  memory 
which  was  not  tender  and  full  of  affectionate 
reverence. 

"  Never,"  was  Osmonde's  thought,  "  in  all  the 
years  we  knew  each  other  did  I  hear  him  utter  a 
thought  which  was  ungenerous  or  unjust.  You, 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE       325 

my  lord,"  he  found  himself  saying  aloud  one  day, 
"  have  sure  left  earth's  regrets  behind  and  see  with 
clearer  eyes  than  ours.  A  man — loving  as  you 
yourself  loved,  yearning  as  you  yourself  yearned 
• — you  will  but  pity  with  a  tender  soul. 

And  he  could  but  remember  his  last  interview 
with  Mistress  Anne  on  his  bidding  farewell  to 
Dunstan's  Wolde  after  the  funeral  obsequies. 

"  'Tis  a  farewell  I  bid  the  place,"  he  had  said, 
"though  I  may  see  it  again.  I  came  here  as  a 
boy,  and  in  the  first  years  of  my  young  manhood, 
and  he  was  always  here  to  bid  me  welcome. 
One  of  my  earliest  memories  " — they  stood  in  the 
large  saloon  together,  and  he  raised  his  eyes  to  a 
picture  near  them — "one  of  my  first  recollections 
here  is  of  this  young  face  with  its  blushing  cheeks, 
and  of  my  lord's  sorrowful  tenderness  as  he  told 
me  that  she  had  died  and  that  his  little  son  —who, 
had  he  lived,  might  have  been  as  myself — had 
died  with  her." 

Whereupon  Mistress  Anne,  with  innocent  tears 
and  lowered  voice,  told  him  a  story  of  how  the 
night  before  her  lord  had  been  laid  to  rest,  his 
widow  had  sat  by  his  side  through  the  slow  hours, 
and  had  stroked  his  cold  hands  and  spoken  softly 
to  him  as  if  he  could  feel  her  lovingness,  and  on 
the  morning  before  he  left  her,  she  had  folded 
in  his  clasp  a  miniature  of  his  young  dead  wife 
and  a  lock  of  her  soft  hair  and  her  child's. 


326      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

"  And  'twas,  indeed,  a  tender,  strange  thing  to 
see  and  hear,"  said  Anne,  "  for  she  said  with  such 
noble  gentleness,  that  'twas  the  first  sweet  lady 
who  had  been  his  wife — not  herself — and  that 
when  she  and  her  child  should  run  to  meet  him 
in  heaven  he  would  forget  that  they  had  ever 
parted — and  all  would  be  well.  Think  you  it  will 
be  so,  your  Grace?"  her  simple,  filled  eyes  lifted 
to  him  appealingly. 

"  There  is  no  marrying  or  giving  in  marriage, 
'tis  said,"  answered  his  Grace,  "  and  she  whom  he 
loved  first — in  his  youth — surety- 
Mistress  Anne's  eyes  dwelt  upon  him  in  quiet 
wondering. 

"  'Tis  strange  how  your  Grace  and  her  ladyship 
sometimes  utter  the  same  thoughts,  as  if  you 
were  but  one  mind,"  she  said.  "  '  No  marrying 
or  giving  in  marriage,'  'twas  that  she  herself 
said." 

Dunstan's  Wolde  passed  into  the  hands  of  the 
next  heir,  and  the  countess  and  her  sister  went 
to  their  father's  estate  of  Wildairs  in  Gloucester 
shire,  where,  during  the  mourning,  they  lived  in 
deep  seclusion.  'Twas  a  long  mourning,  to  the 
wonder  of  the  neighbourhood,  who,  being  accus 
tomed  to  look  upon  this  young  lady  as  likely  to 
furnish  them  forth  with  excitement,  had  begun 
at  once  to  make  plans  for  her  future  and  decide 
what  she  would  do  next.  Having  been  rid  of 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      327 

her  old  husband  and  left  an  earl's  widow  with  a 
fine  fortune,  a  town  house,  and  some  of  the  most 
magnificent  jewels  in  England,  'twas  not  likely 
she  would  long  bury  herself  in  an  old  country 
house,  hiding  her  beauty  in  weeds  and  sad-col 
oured  draperies.  She  would  make  her  period  of 
seclusion  as  brief  as  decency  would  permit,  and 
after  it  reappear  in  a  blaze  of  brilliancy. 

But  she  remained  at  Wildairs  with  her  sister, 
Mistress  Anne,  only  being  seen  on  occasions  at 
church,  in  her  long  and  heavy  draperies  of  black. 

"  But  she  is  a  strange  mixture,"  said  my  Lord 
Twemlow's  Chaplain,  in  speaking  of  her,  "  and 
though  she  hath  so  changed,  hath  scarce  changed 
at  all.  Her  black  eye  can  flame  as  bright  as 
ever  under  her  long  widow's  veil.  She  visits 
the  poor  with  her  sister,  and  gives  charities, 
but  she  will  have  no  beggarly  tricks,  and  can 
pick  out  a  hypocrite  at  his  first  whining,  howso 
ever  clever  he  may  be.  One  came  to  her  last 
week  with  a  lying  tale  of  having  loved  the  old 
Earl  Dunstanwolde,  and  been  his  pensioner  for 
years.  And  to  see  her  mark  the  weak  points  of 
his  story,  and  to  hear  the  wit  with  which  she 
questioned  him  until  he  broke  down  affrighted, 
was  a  thing  to  marvel  at. 

"  *  Think  you,'  she  said,  '  that  I  will  let  knaves 
trade  on  my  lord's  goodness,  and  play  tricks 
in  his  name  ?  You  shall  all  see.  In  the  stocks 


328      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

you  shall  sit  and  repent  it — a  warning  to  other 
rascals.'  " 

But  in  the  miserable,  long-neglected  village  of 
Wildairs  she  did  such  deeds  as  made  her  remem 
bered  to  the  end  of  many  lives.  No  village  was 
in  worse  case  than  this  had  been  for  years,  as 
might  well  be  expected.  Falling  walls,  rotting 
thatches,  dirt  and  wretchedness  were  to  be  seen 
on  all  sides ;  cottages  were  broken-paned  and 
noisome,  men  and  women  Avho  should  have  been 
hale  were  drawn  with  rheumatism  from  moulder 
ing  dampness,  or  sodden  with  drink  and  idleness; 
children  who  should  have  been  rosy  and  clean 
and  studying  their  horn  books,  at  the  dame  school, 
were  little,  dirty,  evil,  brutal  things. 

"And  no  blame  of  theirs,  but  yours,"  said  my 
lady  to  her  father. 

"  Thou  didst  not  complain  in  days  gone  by, 
Clo,"  said  Sir  Jeoffry,  "  but  swore  at  them  roundly 
when  they  ran  in  thy  horse's  way  as  thou  went  at 
gallop  through  the  village,  and  called  the  men  and 
women  lousy  pigs  who  should  be  whipt." 

"  Did  I  ?  "  said  her  ladyship,  looking  at  him  with 
large  eyes.  "  Ay,  that  I  did.  In  those  days  surely 
1  was  mad  and  blind." 

"  Wildairs  village  is  no  credit  to  its  owner/' 
grumbled  Sir  Jeoffry.  "Wherefore  should  it  be? 
I  am  a  poor  man — I  can  do  naught  for  it." 

"  I  can,"  said  my  Lady  Dunstanwolde. 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      329 

And  so  she  did,  but  at  first  when  she  entered  the 
tumbledown  cottages,  looking  so  tall,  a  black  fig 
ure  in  her  sweeping  draperies  and  widow's  veil, 
the  people  were  more  than  half  affrighted.  But 
soon  she  won  them  from  their  terror  with  her  own 
strange  power,  and  they  found  that  she  was  no 
longer  the  wild  young  lady  who  had  dashed 
through  their  hamlet  in  hunting  garb,  her  dogs 
following  her,  and  the  glance  of  her  black  eyes  and 
the  sound  of  her  mocking  laugh  things  to  flee  be 
fore.  Her  eyes  had  grown  kind,  and  she  had  a 
way  none  could  resist,  and  showed  a  singular 
knowledge  of  poor  folks'  wants  and  likings.  Her 
goodness  to  them  was  not  that  of  the  ordinary 
lady  who  felt  that  flannel  petticoats  and  soup  and 
scriptural  readings  made  up  the  sum  of  all  require 
ments.  There  were  other  things  she  knew  and 
talked  to  them  of,  as  if  they  were  human  creatures 
like  herself. 

"  I  can  carry  to  them  food  and  raiment,"  said 
Mistress  Anne,  wondering  at  her,  "  but  when  1  try 
to  talk  with  them  I  am  afraid  and  have  no  words. 
But  you,  sister — when  you  sate  by  that  poor  dis 
traught  young  woman  yesterday  and  talked  to  her 
of  her  husband  who  had  met  such  sudden  death— 
you  knew  what  to  say,  and  in  the  midst  of  her 
agony  she  turned  in  her  bed  and  lay  and  stared 
at  you  and  listened." 

"  Yes,  I  knew,"  said  my  lady — her  eyes  shining. 


330      HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

"  She  is  passing  through  what  I  might  pass 

through  if !  Those  two  poor  souls — rustics, 

and  ignorant,  who  to  greater  people  seem  like  cat 
tle — they  were  man  and  woman  who  had  loved 
and  mated.  They  could  not  have  told  their  joy  or 
the  meaning  of  it.  I  could — [  could!  And  now 
her  mate  is  gone — and  the  world  is  empty,  and  she 
is  driven  mad.  I  know,  1  know !  Only  another 
woman  who  knew  could  have  uttered  words  she 
would  have  listened  to/' 

"What — what  did  you  say?"  said  Mistress 
Anne — and  almost  gasped,  for  my  lady  looked  so 
full  of  tragic  truth  and  passion ,  and  how  could 
she  know  ?  being  only  the  widow  of  an  old  man 
whom  she  had  but  loved  with  kindness,  as  if  she 
had  been  his  daughter  ?  'Twas  not  through  her 
loss  of  my  Lord  Dunstanwolde  she  knew.  And 
yet,  know  she  did,  'twas  plain. 

And  her  answer  was  the  strangest,  daring 
proof. 

"  I  said  to  her — almost  fiercely,  though  I  spoke 
beneath  my  breath,  '  He  hath  not  left  thee :  Thou 
wouldst  not  have  left  him.  Thou  couldst  not. 
Remember!  Think  !  Thou  canst  not  see  him,  but 
thee  he  sees,  and  loves — loves,  I  tell  thee,  as  he  did 
two  weeks  since.  Perhaps  he  holds  thee  in  his 
arms  and  cries  to  thee  to  hear  him.  Perhaps  'tis 
he  who  speaks  in  these  words  of  mine.  When  we 
have  loved  them  and  they  us,  death  is  not  strong 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      331 

enough  to  part  us.  Love  holds  too  close.  Listen! 
He  is  here  ! ' 

"  Heaven's  mercy  !  "  cried  gentle  Mistress  Anne, 
the  tears  running  down  her  cheeks.  "  There  seems 
no  Death,  when  you  talk  thus,  sister— no  Death." 

"  There  is  none,"  said  my  lady,  "  when  Love 
comes.  When  Love  has  come,  there  is  naught 
else  in  Nature's  universe,  for  it  is  stronger  than 
all." 

And  'twas  as  if  she  were  some  prophetess  who 
spoke,  her  face  and  eyes  glowed  with  such  fire 
and  solemness.  But  Mistress  Anne,  gazing  at 
her,  thrilled  to  her  heart's  core,  had  a  strange 
sense  of  fear,  wondering  whence  this  mood  had 
come,  how  it  had  grown,  and  what  it  might  bring 
forth  in  the  unknown  future. 

The  custom  of  the  time  held  that  a  widowed 
lady  should  mourn  retired  a  year,  but  'twas  near 
two  before  her  ladyship  of  Dunstanwolde  came 
forth  from  her  seclusion,  and  casting  her  weeds  re 
turned  to  town.  And  my  Lord  Duke  of  Osmonde 
had  come  again  to  Camylott  when  the  news  was 
spread. 

He  had  been  engaged  in  grave  business,  and 
having  been  abroad  upon  it  had,  on  his  return, 
travelled  at  once  to  the  country.  To  Camylott  he 
came  because  it  was  his  refuge  in  all  unrestful 
hours  or  deeply  grave  ones — the  broad,  heavenly 
scene  spread  out  before  it.  soothed  him  when  he 


332       HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

gazed  through  its  windows,  the  waving  and  rustle 
of  the  many  huge  trees  on  every  side  never  ceased 
to  bring  back  to  him  something  of  the  feeling  he 
had  had  in  his  childhood,  that  they  were  mighty 
and  mysterious  friends  who  hushed  him  as  a  child 
is  hushed  to  sleep ;  and  so  he  came  to  Camylott 
for  a  few  days'  repose  before  re-entering  Court 
life  with  its  tumults  and  broils  and  scheming. 

In  a  certain  comfortable  suite  of  rooms  which 
had  once  been  a  part  of  the  nurseries  there  lived 
at  peaceful  ease  an  aged  woman  who  loved  his 
Grace  well  and  faithfully,  and  had  so  loved  him 
from  his  childhood,  knowing  indeed  more  of  the 
intimate  details  of  his  life  and  career  than  he  him 
self  imagined.  This  old  gentlewoman  was  Mistress 
Rebecca  Halsell,  the  whilom  chieftainess  of  the 
nursery  department,  and  having  failed  in  health 
as  age  drew  near  her,  she  had  been  generously  in 
stalled  a  quiet  pensioner  in  her  old  domain.  When 
the  Marquess  of  Roxholm  had  returned  from  his 
first  campaign  he  had  found  her  living  in  these 
apartments — a  woman  nearing  seventy,  somewhat 
bent  with  rheumatism,  and  white-haired,  but  with 
the  grave,  clear  eyes  he  remembered,  still  un- 
dimmed. 

"  I  hope  to  be  here  still,  my  lord  Marquess," 
she  had  said,  "  when  you  bring  your  lady  home 
to  us — even  perhaps  when  the  nurseries  are 
thrown  open  again.  I  have  been  a  happy  worn- 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE       333 

an  in  these  rooms  since  the  first  hour  I  entered 
them  and  took  your  lordship  from  Nurse  Alison's 
arms." 

She  had  led  a  happy  life,  being  surrounded  by 
every  comfort,  all  the  servants  being  her  friends, 
and  she  spending  her  days  with  books  and  simple 
work,  sitting  chiefly  at  the  large  window  from 
whence  she  could  see  the  park,  and  the  avenue 
where  the  company  came  and  went,  and  on  days 
when  there  was  naught  else  stirring,  watch  the 
rookery  with  its  colony  of  rooks  flying  to  and  fro 
quarrelling  or  sitting  in  judgment  on  affairs  of 
state,  settling  their  big  nests,  and  marrying  and 
giving  in  marriage. 

When  his  Grace  was  at  the  tower  he  paid  her 
often  a  friendly  visit,  and  entertained  her  bravely 
with  stories  of  camp  and  Court  until,  indeed,  she 
had  become  a  wondrous  stateswoman,  and  knew 
quite  well  the  merits  of  Marlborough  and  Prince 
Eugene,  and  had  her  own  views  of  the  changing 
favourites  and  their  bitter  struggles  to  attain  their 
ends.  On  this  occasion  of  his  return,  my  lord 
Duke  going  to  give  her  greeting,  found  her  part 
ing  with  a  friend,  a  comely  country  woman,  who 
left  them  courtesy  ing,  and  Mistress  Halsell  sate  in 
her  armchair  with  somewhat  of  a  glow  in  her 
grave  eyes.  And  after  their  first  exchange  of 
words  the  room  was  for  a  few  moments  very  quiet. 

"  Your  Grace/'  she  said,  "  before  she,  who  has 


334      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

just  left  us,  came,  I  sate  here  and  thought  of  a  day 
many  a  year  ago  when  you  and  I  sate  together, 
and  your  Grace  climbed  on  my  knee." 

"  I  have  climbed  there  many  a  time,  Nurse  Hal- 
sell,"  he  said,  his  brown  eye  opening,  laughing, 
as  it  had  a  trick  of  doing. 

"  But  this  time  \vas  a  grave  one,"  Mistress  Hal- 
sell  answered.  "  We  talked  of  grave  things,  and 
in  my  humble  way  I  strove  to  play  Chaplain  and 
preach  a  sermon.  You  had  heard  Grace  and  Ali 
son  gossip  of  King  Charles  and  Madam  Carwell 
and  Nell  Gwynne  —  and  would  ask  questions  it 
was  hard  to  answer." 

"  I  remember  well,"  said  my  lord  Duke,  the  light 
of  memory  in  his  eye,  and  he  added,  as  one  who 
reflects,  "  He  is  the  King — he  is  the  King !  " 

"You  remember!"  said  Nurse  Halsell,  her  old 
eyes  glowing.  "  I  have  never  forgot,  and  your 
Grace's  little  face  so  lost  in  thought,  as  you  looked 
out  at  the  sky." 

"  I  have  remembered  it,"  said  his  Grace,  "  in 
many  a  hard  hour  such  as  comes  in  all  men's 
lives." 

"You  have  known  some  such?"  said  the  old 
woman,  and  of  a  sudden,  as  she  gazed  at  him,  it 
seemed  as  if  such  feeling  overswept  her  as  made 
her  forget  he  was  a  great  Duke  and  remember 
only  her  beauteous  nurseling.  "  Yes,  you  have 
known  them,  for  I  have  sate  here  at  the  window 


HIS   GRACE  OF   OSMONDE      335 

and  watched,  and  there  have  been  days  when  my 
heart  was  like  to  break." 

He  started  and  turned  towards  her.  Her  deep 
eyes  were  full  of  tears  which  brimmed  over  and 
ran  down  her  furrowed  cheeks,  and  in  them  he 
saw  a  tender  and  wise  knowledge  of  his  nature's 
self  and  all  its  pains — a  thing  of  which,  before,  he 
had  never  dreamed,  for  how  could  he  have  imag 
ined  that  an  old  woman  living  alone  could  have 
so  followed  him  with  her  heart  that  she  had  guessed 
his  deepest  secret ;  but  this  indeed  sh'e  had,  and 
her  next  words  most  touchingly  revealed  it. 

"  Being  widowed  and  childless  when  I  came  to 
you,"  she  said,  her  emotion  rising  to  a  passion, 
"  'twas  as  if  you  grew  to  be  my  own — and  in  those 
summer  days  three  years  gone,  life  and  love  were 
strong  in  you — life  and  love  and  youth.  And  her 
eyes  dared  not  turn  to  you,  nor  yours  to  her — and 
I  am  a  woman  and  was  afraid — for  my  man  who 
died  and  left  me  widowed  was  my  lover  as  well  as 
my  husband,  and  soul  and  body  we  had  been  one 
— so  I  knew !  But  as  I  sate  here  and  saw  you  as 
you  passed  below  with  your  company,  I  said  it  to 
myself  again  and  again,  '  He  is  the  King — he  is 
the  King  ! ' '  And  as  his  Grace  rose  from  his 
seat,  not  angered,  indeed,  gazing  at  her  tenderly, 
though  growing  pale,  she  seized  his  hand  and 
kissed  it,  her  tears  falling. 

"  If  'tis  unseemly,"  she  said,  "forgive  me,  your 


336      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

Grace,  forgive  me  ;  but  I  had  sate  here  so  long  this 
very  morning,  and  thought  but  of  this  thing — and 
in  the  midst  of  my  thinking  came  this  woman,  and 
she  is  from  Gloucestershire,  and  told  me  of  her 
ladyship  of  Dunstanwolde — whose  chariot  passed 
her  on  the  road,  and  she  goes  up  to  town,  and 
rode  radiant  and  blooming  in  rich  colours,  having 
cast  her  weeds  aside  and  looking,  so  the  woman 
said,  like  a  beauteous  creature  new  born,  with  all 
of  life  to  come." 


CHAPTER  XX If 
Sir  John  Oxon  Returns  Also 

WHEN  his  Grace  of  Osmonde  returned  to  town 
he  found  but  one  topic  of  conversation,  and  this 
was  of  such  interest  and  gave  such  a  fillip  to  gos 
sip  and  chatter  that  fierce  Sarah  of  Marlborough's 
encounters  with  Mrs.  Masham,  and  her  quarrels 
with  Majesty  itself,  were  for  the  time  actually 
neglected.  Her  Grace  had  engaged  in  battles 
royal  for  so  long  a  time  and  with  such  activity 
that  the  Court  and  the  world  were  a  little  wearied 
and  glad  of  something  new.  And  here  was  a 
most  promising  event  which  might  be  discussed 
from  a  thousand  points  and  bring  forth  pretty 
stories  of  past  and  present,  as  well  as  prophecies 
for  the  future. 

The  incomparable  and  amazing  Clorinda, 
Countess  of  Dunstanwolde,  having  mourned  in 
stately  retirement  for  near  upon  two  years  (when 
Fashion  demanded  but  one)  and  having  paid  such 
reverence  to  her  old  lord's  memory  as  had  seemed 
almost  the  building  of  a  monument  to  his  virtues, 
had  cast  her  sables,  left  the  country,  and  come  up 
to  town  to  reign  again  at  Dunstanwolde  House, 
which  had  been  swept  and  garnished. 
22  337 


338      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

At  Court,  and  in  all  the  modish  houses  in  the 
town,  one  may  be  sure  that  the  whole  story  of  her 
strange  life  was  told  and  retold  with  a  score  of 
imaginative  touches.  Her  baby  oaths  were  re- 
sworn,  her  childish  wickedness  depicted  in  colours 
which  glowed,  the  biographies  of  the  rough  old 
country  rakes  who  had  trained  her  were  related, 
in  free  translation,  so  to  speak,  over  many  a  dish 
of  chocolate  and  tea,  and,  these  points  dwelt  on, 
what  more  dramatic  than  to  turn  upon  the  singular 
fortune  of  her  marriage,  the  wealth,  rank,  and  rep 
utation  of  the  man  who  had  so  worshipped  her, 
and  the  unexpectedness  of  her  grace  and  decorum 
the  while  she  bore  his  name  and  shared  his  home 
with  him. 

"  Had  she  come  up  to  town,"  'twas  remarked, 
"and  once  having  caught  him,  played  the  vixen 
and  the  shrew,  turned  his  house  into  a  bear-gar 
den,  behaved  unseemly  and  put  him  to  shame, 
none  would  have  been  surprised " 

"  Many  would  have  been  all  agog  with  joy," 
interrupted  old  Lady  Storms  who  heard.  "  She 
was  a  woeful  disappointment  to  many  a  gossiping 
woman,  and  a  lesson  to  all  the  shifty  fools  who 
sell  themselves  to  a  man,  and  then  trick  him  out 
of  the  price  he  paid." 

At  the  clubs  and  coffee-houses  the  men  talked 
also,  though  men's  tongues  do  not  run  as  fast  as 
the  tongues  of  womenkind,  and  their  gossip  was 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      339 

of  a  masculine  order.  She  was  a  finer  creature 
than  ever,  and  at  present  was  the  richest  widow 
in  England.  A  man  might  well  lose  his  wits  over 
her  mere  self  if  she  had  naught  but  the  gown  she 
stood  in,  but  he  who  got  her  would  get  all  else  be- 
side.  The  new  beaux  and  the  old  ones  began  to 
buy  modish  habits  and  periwigs,  adorn  themselves 
with  new  sword  and  shoulder  knots,  and  trifle 
over  the  latest  essences  offered  in  the  toyshops. 

"  Split  me,"  said  one  splendid  fop,  "  but  since 
my  lady  returned  to  town  the  price  of  ambergris 
and  bergamot  and  civet  powders  has  mounted  per 
ilously,  and  the  mercers  are  all  too  busy  to  be 
civil.  When  I  sent  my  rascal  this  morning  to  buy 
the  Secret  White  Water  to  Curl  Gentlemen's 
Hair,  on  my  life  he  was  told  he  must  wait  for  it, 
since  new  must  be  made,  as  all  had  been  engaged." 

One  man  at  that  time  appeared  at  the  Cocoa 
Tree  and  Cribb's  with  a  new  richness  of  garb  and 
a  look  in  his  face  such  as  had  not  been  seen  there 
for  many  a  day.  In  truth,  for  some  time  the 
coffee-houses  had  seen  but  little  of  him,  and  it  had 
sometimes  been  said  that  he  had  fled  the  country 
to  escape  his  creditors,  or  might  be  spending  his 
days  in  a  debtors'  prison,  since  he  had  no  acquaint 
ances  who  would  care  to  look  for  him  if  he  were 
missing,  and  he  might  escape  to  France,  or  be 
seized  and  rot  in  gaol,  and  none  be  the  wiser. 

But  on  a  night  even  a  little  before  the  throwing 


340      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

open  of  Dunstanwolde  House,  he  sauntered  into 
the  Cocoa  Tree  and,  having  become  so  uncommon 
a  sight,  several  turned  to  glance  at  him. 

"  Egad !  "  one  cried  low  to  another,  "  'tis  Jack 
Oxon  back  again.  Where  doth  the  fellow  spring 
from?" 

His  good  looks  it  had  been  hard  for  him  to 
lose,  they  being  such  as  were  built  of  delicately 
cut  features,  graceful  limbs,  and  an  elegant  air, 
but  during  the  past  year  he  had  often  enough 
looked  haggard,  vicious,  and  of  desperate  ill- 
humour,  besides  out  of  fashion,  if  not  out  at  el 
bow.  Now  his  look  had  singularly  changed,  his 
face  was  fresher,  his  eye  brighter,  though  a  little 
feverish  in  its  light,  and  he  wore  a  new  sword  and 
velvet  scabbard,  a  rich  lace  steenkirk,  and  a  mo 
dish  coat  of  pale  violet  brocade. 

"  Where  hast  come  from,  Jack  ? "  someone 
asked  him.  "  Hast  been  into  a  nunnery  ?" 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  doing  penance  for  thy 
sins,  having  none  of  my  own." 

"  Hast  got  credit  again,  I  swear,"  cried  the 
other,  "  or  thou  wouldst  not  look  such  a  dandy." 

Sir  John  sate  down  and  called  for  refreshment, 
which  a  drawer  brought  him. 

"  A  man  can  always  get  credit,"  he  said,  with 
an  ironic,  cool  little  smile,  "  when  his  fortunes 
take  a  turn." 

"  Thou  look'st  as  if  thine  had  turned,"  said  his 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      341 

companion.  "  Purple  and  silver,  and  thy  ringlets 
brushed  and  perfumed  like  a  girl's.  In  thy  eyes 
'tis  a  finer  mop  than  any  other  man's  French  peri 
wig,  all  know." 

Sir  John  looked  down  on  his  shoulders  at  his 
soft  rich  fall  of  curls  and  smiled.  "  Tis  finer,"  he 
said.  "  'Tis  as  fine  fora  man  as  a  certain  beauty's, 
we  once  talked  of,  was  for  a  woman." 

The  man  who  talked  with  him  laughed  with  a 
half-sneer. 

"  Thou  canst  not  forget  her  hair,  Jack,"  he  said, 
"  but  the  lock  stayed  on  her  head  despite  thee. 
Art  going  to  try  again,  now  she  is  a  widow  ?" 

Sir  John  looked  up  from  his  drink  and  in  his 
eye  there  leapt  up  a  devil  in  spite  of  himself,  for 
he  had  meant — if  he  could — to  keep  cool. 

"  Ay,"  he  said,  "by  God  !  I  am." 

So  when  men  talked  of  Lady  Dunstanwolde 
'twas  not  unnatural  that,  this  story  having  been 
bruited  about,  they  should  talk  also  of  Jack  Oxon, 
and  since  they  talked  to  each  other,  the  rumour 
reached  feminine  ears  which  pricked  themselves 
at  once ;  and  when  my  lord  Duke  of  Osmonde 
came  to  town  and  went  into  the  world,  he  also 
heard  discussions  of  Sir  John  Oxon.  This  gentle 
man  who  had  been  missing  in  the  World  of  Fash 
ion  had  reappeared,  and  'twas  believed  had  re 
turned  to  life  to  try  his  fortunes  with  my  Lady 


342       HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

Dunstanwolde.  And  'twas  well  known  indeed 
that  he  had  been  the  first  lover  she  had  known, 
for  the  elderly  country  roisterers  had  been 
naught  but  her  playmates  and  her  father's  boon 
companions,  and  Sir  John  had  appeared  at  the 
famous  birthnight  supper  and  had  been  the  only 
town  man  who  had  ever  seen  her  in  her  male  at 
tire,  and  was  among  those  who  toasted  her  when 
she  returned  to  the  banquet-room  splendid  in 
crimson  and  gold,  and  ordered  all  to  fall  upon 
their  knees  before  her;  and  Sir  John — (he  was 
then  in  the  heyday  of  his  beauty  and  success) 
had  gone  mad  with  love  for  her,  and  'twas  be 
lieved  that  she  had  returned  his  passion,  as  any 
girl  well  might,  though  she  was  so  proud-spirited 
a  creature  that  none  could  be  quite  sure.  At  least 
'twas  known  that  he  had  laid  seige  to  her,  and  for 
near  two  years  had  gone  often  to  the  country, 
and  many  had  seen  him  gaze  at  her  in  company 
when  his  passion  was  writ  plain  in  his  blue  eyes. 
Suddenly,  on  his  reappearance,  since  he  for  some 
unknown  reason  wore  the  look  of  a  man  whose 
fortunes  might  have  changed  for  the  better,  there 
were  those  among  whom  the  tide  took  a  turn 
somewhat  in  Sir  John's  favour.  'Twas  even  sug 
gested  by  a  woman  of  fashion,  given  somewhat  to 
romance,  that  perhaps  the  poor  man  had  fallen 
into  evil  ways  and  lost  his  good  looks  and  ele 
gant  air  through  thwarted  passion,  and  'twas 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      343 

thought  indeed  a  touching  thing  that  at  the  first 
gleam  of  hope  he  should  emerge  from  his  retire 
ment  almost  restored  in  spirit  and  bloom. 

The  occupants  of  coaches  and  chairs  passing  be 
fore  the  entrance  to  Osmonde  House,  which  was  a 
great  mansion  situated  in  a  garden,  noted  but  a  few 
days  after  the  world  had  heard  her  ladyship  was  in 
town,  that  his  Grace  had  returned  also.  Lacqueys 
stood  about  the  entrance,  and  the  Osmonde  liv 
eries  were  to  be  seen  going  to  and  fro  in  the  streets, 
the  Duke  was  observed  to  drive  to  Kensington 
and  back,  and  to  St.  James's,  and  the  House  of  Par 
liament,  and  it  was  known  was  given  audience  by 
the  Queen  upon  certain  secret  matters  of  State. 
'T  was  indeed  at  this  time  that  the  changes  wrere  tak 
ing  place  in  her  Majesty's  councils,  and  his  anticipa 
tion  of  a  ministerial  revolution  had  so  emboldened 
King  Louis  that  he  had  ventured  to  make  private 
overtures  to  the  royal  lady's  confidential  advisers. 
"  What  we  lose  in  Flanders  we  shall  gain  in  Eng 
land,"  Maryborough's  French  enemy,  Torcy,  had 
said.  And  between  the  anger  and  murmurs  of  a 
people  who  had  turned  to  rend  a  whilom  idol,  the 
intrigues  and  cabals  about  the  throne,  the  quarrels 
of  her  counsellors  and  ladies  of  the  bedchamber, 
and  the  passionate  reproaches  of  the  strongest  and 
most  indomitable  of  female  tyrants,  'twas  small 
wonder  a  dull,  ease-loving  woman,  feeling  the  bur 
den  of  her  royalty  all  too  wearisome  and  heavy, 


344      HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

should  turn  with  almost  pathetic  insistence  to 
a  man  young  enough  to  be  her  son,  attractive 
enough  to  be  a  favourite,  high  enough  to  be  im 
peccable,  and  of  such  clear  wit,  strength  of  will 
and  resource,  and  power  over  herself  and  others 
as  seemed  to  set  him  apart  from  all  the  rest  of 
those  who  gathered  to  clamour  about  her.  In 
truth,  my  lord  Duke's  value  to  her  Majesty  was 
founded  greatly  upon  that  which  had  drawn  his 
Grace  of  Maryborough  to  him.  He  wanted  noth 
ing  ;  all  the  others  had  some  desire  to  gain,  se 
cret  or  avowed.  The  woman  who  had  so  longed 
for  unregal  feminine  intimacy  and  companionship 
that  with  her  favoured  attendant  she  had  played  a 
comedy  of  private  life — doffing  her  queenship  and 
becoming  simple  "  Mrs.  Morley,"  that  with  "Mrs. 
Freeman,"  at  least,  she  might  forget  she  was  a 
Queen — was  not  formed  by  Nature  to  combat  with 
State  intrigues  and  Court  duplicities. 

"  I  am  given  no  quiet,"  the  poor  august  lady  said. 
"  These  people  who  resign  places  and  demand 
them,  who  call  meetings  and  create  a  ferment, 
these  ladies  who  vituperate  and  clamour  like  de 
serted  lovers,  weary  me.  Your  Grace's  strength 
brings  me  repose  !  " 

And  as  the  father  had  felt  sympathy  and  pity  for 
poor  Catherine  of  Braganza  in  Charles  the  Second's 
day,  so  the  son  felt  pity  and  gave  what  support  he 
could  to  poor  bullied  and  bewildered  Queen  Anne. 


HIS   GRACE  OF   OSMONDE      345 

To  him  her  queenship  was  truly  the  lesser  thing, 
her  helpless,  somewhat  heavy-witted  and  easily 
wavering  womanhood  the  greater ;  and  there  were 
those  who  feared  him,  for  such  reasons  as  few 
men  in  his  position  had  been  feared  before. 

His  Grace  had  been  but  two  days  in  town,  and 
on  the  morning  of  the  second  had  driven  in  his 
chariot  to  Kensington,  and  had  an  audience  upon 
the  private  matter  already  spoken  of,  and  which 
would  in  all  likelihood  take  him,  despite  his  wishes, 
across  the  Channel  and  to  the  French  Court.  He 
might  be  commanded  away  at  the  very  moment 
that  he  wished  most  to  be  on  English  soil,  in  Lon 
don  itself.  For  howsoever  ardent  and  long  hid 
den  a  man's  passion,  he  must,  if  he  be  delicate  of 
feeling,  await  that  moment  which  is  ripe  for  him 
to  speak.  And  this  he  pondered  on  as  his  chariot 
rolled  through  the  streets  to  bear  him  to  make  his 
first  visit  to  her  ladyship  of  Dunstanwolde. 

"  I  have  known  and  dreamed  of  her  almost  all 
her  life,"  he  thought.  "  'Tis  but  three  years  since 
she  first  saw  my  face  ;  through  the  first  year  she 
was  another  man's  wife,  and  these  two  last  his 
mourning  widow.  When  I  behold  her  to  day  I 
shall  learn  much." 

The  sun  was  shining  gloriously,  and  the  skies' 
blue  was  deep  and  clear.  He  looked  up  at  it  as 
he  drove,  and  at  the  fresh  early  summer  green 
ness  of  the  huge  trees  and  thick  grass  in  the 


346      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

parks  and  gardens  ;  and  when  his  equipage  rolled 
into  the  court  at  Dunstanwolde  House,  he  smiled 
to  himself  for  pleasure  to  see  its  summer  air,  with 
the  lacqueys  making  excuse  to  stand  outside  in 
the  brightness  of  the  day,  little  Nero,  the  black 
negro  page,  sunning  himself  and  his  pugs  and 
spaniels  on  the  plot  of  grass  at  the  front,  and  the 
windows  thrown  open  to  let  in  the  soft  fresh  air, 
while  the  balconies  before  the  drawing-room 
casements  were  filled  with  masses  of  flowers — 
yellow  and  white  perfumed  things,  sent  up  fresh 
from  the  country  and  set  in  such  abundance  that 
the  balconies  bloomed  like  gardens.  The  last 
time  he  had  beheld  her,  she  had  stood  by  her  hus 
band's  coffin,  swathed  in  long,  heavy  draperies 
of  black,  looking  indeed  a  wonderful  tragic  figure; 
and  this  was  in  his  mind  as  he  walked  up  the 
broad  staircase,  followed  by  the  lacquey,  who  a 
moment  later  flung  open  the  door  of  the  saloon 
and  announced  him  with  solemn  majesty. 

But  oh!  the  threshold  once  crossed,  the  great 
white-and-gold  decorated  apartment  seemed 
flooded  with  sunlight  and  filled  with  the  fra 
grance  of  daffodils  and  jonquils  and  narcissus 
blown  in  through  the  open  window,  and  Mistress 
Anne  sate  sweet  and  modest  in  a  fine  chair  too 
big  for  her  dear  small  body ;  but  my  lord  Duke 
scarce  could  see  her,  for  'twas  as  if  the  sun  shone 
in  his  eyes  when  there  rose  from  a  divan  to  meet 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      347 

him  a  tall  goddess  clad  in  white  and  with  a  gold 
ribband  confining  her  black  hair  and  her  waist, 
and  a  branch  of  yellow-gold  flowers  in  her  hand, 
which  looked  as  if  surely  she  might  just  have 
gathered  them  on  the  terrace  at  Camylott. 

And  she  had  surely  by  some  magic  blotted  out 
the  past  and  had  awakened  to  a  present  which 
was  like  new  birth  and  had  no  past,  for  she 
blushed  the  loveliest,  radiant  blush — at  sight  of 
him — as  if  she  had  been  no  great  lady,  but  a  sweet, 
glowing  girl. 

What  he  said  to  her,  or  she  to  him,  he  knew  no 
more  than  any  lesser  man  in  his  case  knows,  for 
he  was  in  a  whirl  of  wonder  and  strange  delight, 
and  could  scarce  hold  in  his  mind  that  there  was 
need  that  he  should  be  sober,  this  being  his  first 
visit  to  her  since  she  had  cast  the  weeds  worn  for 
his  own  kinsman ;  and  there  sate  Mistress  Anne, 
changing  from  red  to  white,  as  if  through  some 
great  secret  emotion — though  he  did  not  know 
'twas  at  the  sight  of  them  standing  together,  and 
the  sudden  knowledge  and  joy  it  brought  to  her, 
which  made  her  very  heart  to  quake  in  its  tender 
ness.  This — this  was  the  meaning  of  what  she 
had  so  wondered  at  in  her  sister's  mood  when 
they  spoke  of  the  poor  girl  left  widowed;  this 
was  how  she  had  known,  and  if  so,  she  must  have 
learned  it  in  her  own  despite  at  first,  in  that  year 
when  she  had  been  a  bound  woman,  when  they 


348      HIS  GRACE   OF  OSMONDE 

two  had  been  forced  to  encounter  each  other, 
holding  their  hearts  in  gyves  of  iron  and  making 
no  sound  or  sign.  And  the  fond  creature  remem 
bered  the  night  before  the  marriage  when  she 
had  passed  through  a  strange  scene  in  her  sister's 
chamber,  and  one  thing  she  had  said  came  back 
to  her,  and  now  she  understood  its  meaning. 

"  I  love  my  Lord  Dunstanwolde  as  well  as  any 
other  man,  and  better  than  some,  for  I  do  not 
hate  him.  Since  I  have  been  promised  to  him  " 
— ('twas  this  which  now  came  back  to  her) — "  I 
own  I  have  for  a  moment  met  another  gentleman 
who  migJit — 'twas  but  for  a  moment,  and  'tis  done 
with." 

And  this — this  had  been  he,  his  Grace  the  Duke 
of  Osmonde — who  was  so  fit  a  mate  for  her,  and 
whose  brown  eyes  so  burned  with  love.  And  she 
was  a  free  woman,  and  there  they  stood  at  the 
open  window  among  the  flowers — both  bound, 
both  free  ! 

Free  !  She  started  a  little  as  she  said  the  word 
in  thought  again,  for  she  knew  a  strange  wild  sto 
ry  none  other  than  herself  knew,  and  her  sister, 
and  Sir  John  Oxon,  and  they  did  not  suspect  she 
shared  their  secret.  And  for  long  it  had  seemed 
to  her  only  some  cruel  thing  she  had  dreamed  ; 
and  the  wild  lovely  creature  she  had  watched 
and  stood  guard  over  with  such  trembling,  dur 
ing  a  brief  season  of  bewildered  anguish,  seemed 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      349 

to  be  a  sort  of  vision  also.  At  the  end  of  but  a  few 
short  months  Mistress  Anne  had  felt  this  lawless, 
beauteous  being  had  left  the  splendid  body  she 
had  inhabited,  and  another  woman's  life  had  be 
gun  in  it — another  woman's.  That  woman  it  was 
who  had  wed  Lord  Dunstanwolde  and  made  him 
a  blissful  man,  that  woman  has  been  since  then 
her  sister,  her  protector,  and  her  friend  ;  'twas  she 
who  had  watched  by  my  lord's  body,  and  spoke 
low  words  to  him,  and  stroked  his  poor  dead  hand  ; 
'twas  she  who  laid  his  wife's  hair  and  her  child's, 
and  the  little  picture,  on  his  still  breast;  'twas  she 
who  sate  by  the  widowed  girl  at  Wildairs — and 
'twas  she,  she  made  glorious  by  love,  who  stood 
and  smiled  among  the  window's  daffodils. 

His  Grace  and  her  ladyship  were  speaking  soft 
ly  together  of  the  flowers,  the  sunshine,  of  the 
town  and  Court,  and  of  beauteous  Camylott. 
Once  my  lord  Duke's  laugh  rang  out,  rich  and 
gay  like  a  boy's,  and  there  was  such  youth  and 
fire  and  happiness  in  his  handsome  face  as  made 
Mistress  Anne  remember  that,  as  it  was  with  my 
lady,  so  it  was  with  him — that  because  he  was  so 
tall  and  great  and  stately,  the  world  forgot  that 
he  was  young. 

"  But,"  said  the  loving  woman  to  herself  with  a 
sudden  fear,  "if  //^should  come  back.  Nothing  so 
cruel  could  happen — 'tis  past  and  dead  and  for. 
given.  He  could  not — could  not  come." 


350       HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

Then  his  Grace  went  away.  My  lady  spoke 
sweet  and  gracious  words  to  him  with  the  laugh 
ing,  shining  eyes  of  Clo  Wildairs  at  her  most 
wondrous  hours,  and  the  Duke  holding  her  hand, 
bent  and  kissed  it  with  the.  tender  passion  of  a 
hungered  man,  as  he  had  not  dared  to  dream  of 
kissing  it  before. 

And  he  went  down  the  staircase  a  new  man, 
carrying  his  head  as  though  a  crown  had  been  set 
on  it  and  he  would  bear  it  nobly.  In  his  tawny 
eye  there  wras  a  smile  which  was  yet  solemn 
though  it  was  deeply  bright. 

"  'Tis  the  beginning  of  the  world,"  he  said  in 
wardly — "  'And  the  evening  and  the  morning  were 
the  first  day.'  I  have  looked  into  her  eyes." 

And  as  his  chariot  rolled  through  the  entrance 
into  the  street,  another  passed  it  and  entered  the 
court,  and  through  the  glass  he  saw  a  fair  man, 
richly  dressed,  his  bright  curls  falling  soft  and 
thick  on  his  shoulders ;  and  he  was  arranging  the 
ribband  of  his  sword-knot,  and  smiling  a  little  with 
downcast  eyes — and  it  was  Sir  John  Oxon. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

To-morrow 

A  DOZEN  gentlemen  at  least,  rumour  said, 
would  have  rejoiced  to  end  for  her,  by  marriage, 
this  lovely  lady's  widowhood  ;  but  there  were  but 
two  she  would  be  like  to  choose  between,  and  they 
were  different  men  indeed.  One  of  them,  both  her 
heart  and  her  ambition  might  have  caused  her  to 
make  choice  of,  for  he  combined  such  qualities 
and  fortunes  as  might  well  satisfy  either. 

"  Zounds/'  said  an  old  beau,  "  the  woman  who 
wants  more  than  his  Grace  of  Osmonde  can  give 
— more  money,  greater  estates,  and  more  good 
looks — is  like  to  go  unsatisfied  to  her  grave.  She 
will  take  him,  I  swear,  and  smile  like  Heaven  in 
doing  it." 

"  But  there  was  a  time/'  said  Sir  Chris  Crowell, 
who  had  come  to  town  (to  behold  his  beauty's 
conquests,  as  he  said)  and  who  spent  much  time  at 
the  coffee-houses  and  taverns  telling  garrulous 
stories  of  the  days  of  Mistress  Clo  of  Wildairs, 
"there  was  a  time  when  I  would  have  took  oath 
that  Jack  Oxon  was  the  man  who  would  have  her. 
Lord  !  he  was  the  first  young  handsome  thing  she 
had  ever  met — and  she  was  but  fifteen,  for  all  her 

35i 


352      HIS   GRACE  OF   OSMONDE 

impudence,  and  had  lived  in  the  country  and 
seen  naught  but  a  handful  of  thick-bodied,  red- 
faced  old  rakes.  And  Jack  was  but  four  and 
twenty  and  fresh  from  town,  and  such  a  beauty 
that  there  was  not  a  dairymaid  in  the  country 
but  was  heartbroke  by  him — though  he  may  have 
done  no  more  than  cast  his  devilish  blue  eye  on 
her.  For  he  had  a  way,  I  tell  ye,  that  lad,  he  had 
a  way  with  him  that  would  have  took  any  woman 
in.  A  dozen  parts  he  could  play  and  be  a  wonder 
in  every  one  of  them — and  languish,  and  swear 
oaths,  and  repent  his  sins,  and  plead  for  mercy, 
with  the  look  of  an  angel  come  to  earth,  and  bring 
a  woman  to  tears — and  sometimes  ruin,  God 
knows! — by  his  very  playing  of  the  mountebank. 
Good  Lord  !  to  see  those  two  at  the  birthnight 
supper  was  a  sight  indeed.  My  Lady  Oxon  she 
would  have  been,  if  either  of  them  had  been  a  fort 
une.  But  'twas  Fate— and  which  jilted  the  other, 
Heaven  knows.  And  if  'twas  he  who  played  false, 
and  he  would  come  back  now,  he  will  find  he  hath 
fire  to  deal  with — for  my  Lady  Dunstanwolde  is 
a  fierce  creature  yet,  though  her  eye  shines  so 
soft  in  these  days."  And  he  puffed  at  his  church 
warden's  pipe  and  grinned. 

Among  the  men  who  had  been  her  playmates 
it  would  seem  that  perhaps  this  old  fellow  had 
loved  her  best  of  all,  or  was  more  given  to  being 
demonstrative,  or  more  full  of  a  good-natured 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      353 

vanity  which  exulted  in  her  as  being-  a  sort  of 
personal  property  to  vaunt  and  delight  in ;  at  all 
events  Sir  Chris  had  come  to  the  town,  where  he 
had  scarce  ever  visited  in  all  his  life  before,  and 
had  in  a  way  constituted  himself  a  sort  of  hench 
man  or  courtier  of  her  ladyship  of  Dunstanwolde. 

At  her  house  he  presented  himself  when  first  he 
came  up — short,  burly,  red-faced,  and  in  his  best 
Gloucestershire  clothes,  which  indeed  wore  a 
rustic  air  when  borne  to  London  on  the  broad 
back  of  a  country  gentleman  in  a  somewhat  rusty 
periwig. 

When  he  beheld  the  outside  stateliness  of  the 
big  town  mansion  he  grinned  with  delight;  when 
he  entered  its  doors  and  saw  its  interior  splen 
dours  he  stared  about  him  with  wondering  eyes ; 
and  when  he  was  passed  from  point  to  point  by 
one  tall  and  gorgeously  liveried  lacquey  after  an 
other,  he  grew  sober.  When  her  ladyship  came 
to  him  shortly  after,  she  found  him  standing  in 
the  middle  of  the  magnificent  saloon  (which  had 
been  rearranged  and  adorned  for  her  by  her  late 
lord  in  white  and  golden  panels,  with  decoration 
of  garlands  and  Cupids  and  brocades  after  the 
manner  of  the  French  King  Louis  Fourteenth), 
and  he  was  gazing  about  him  still,  and  now 
scratching  his  periwig  absently. 

"  Eh,  my  lady,"  he  said,  making  an  awkward 
bow,  as  if  he  did  not  know  how  to  bear  himself  in 
23 


354      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

the  midst  of  such  surroundings;  " thy  father  was 
right." 

Never  had  he  seen  a  lady  clad  in  such  rich 
stuffs  and  looking  so  grand  and  like  a  young 
queen,  but  her  red  lips  parted,  showing  her  white 
teeth,  and  her  big  black  eyes  laughed  as  merri 
ly  as  ever  he  had  seen  them  when  Clo  Wildairs 
tramped  across  the  moors  with  him,  her  gun  over 
her  fustian  shoulder. 

"  Was  he  so  ?  "  she  cried,  taking  hold  of  his 
thick  hand  and  drawing  him  towards  a  huge  gold 
carved  sofa.  "  Come  and  tell  me  then  when  he 
was  right,  and  if  'twas  thou  wast  wrong." 

Sir  Chris  stared  at  her  a  minute,  straight  at  her 
arch,  brilliant  face,  and  then  his  rueful  counte 
nance  relaxed  itself  into  a  grin. 

"  Ecod  !  "  he  said,  still  staring  hard,  "  thou  art 
not  changed  a  whit." 

"  Ecod  !  "  she  said,  mocking  him,  "  but  I  am  that. 
Shame  on  thee  to  deny  it.  I  am  a  Countess  and 
have  been  presented  to  the  Queen,  and  cast  my  ill 
manners,  and  can  make  a  Court  obeisance."  And 
she  made  him  a  great,  splendid  courtesy,  sweeping 
down  amidst  her  rich  brocades  as  if  she  would 
touch  the  floor. 

"  Lord !  Lord !  "  he  said,  and  scratched  his  peri 
wig  again.  "  Thou  look'st  like  a  Queen  thyself. 
But  'tis  thy  big  eyes  are  not  changed,  Clo,  that 
laughed  so  through  the  black  fringes  of  them,  like 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      355 

stars  shining  through  a  bush,  and — and  thy  saucy 
way  that  makes  a  man  want  to  seize  hold  on  thee 
and  hug  thee — though — though — "  He  checked 
himself,  half-frightened,  but  she  laughed  out  at 
him  with  that  bell-like  clearness  he  remembered 
so  well,  and  which  he  swore  afterwards  would 
put  heart  into  any  man. 

"'Tis  no  harm  that  a  man  should  want  to  seize 
hold  upon  a  woman,"  she  said;  "  'tis  a  thing  men 
are  given  to,  poor  souls,  and  'tis  said  Heaven  made 
them  so  ;  but  let  him  not  be  unwary  and  strive  to 
do  it.  Town  gentlemen  know  'tis  not  the  fashion." 

Sir  Chris  chuckled  and  looked  about  him  again. 

"  Clo,"  he  said,  "  since  thou  hast  laughed  at  me 
and  I  am  not  frightened  by  thy  grandness,  as  I 
was  at  first,  I  will  tell  thee.  I  am  going  to  stay 
in  Lunnon  for  awhile,  and  look  on  at  thee,  and  be 
a  town  man  myself.  Canst  make  a  town  man  of 
me,  Clo?" — grinning. 

"  Yes,"  answered  her  ladyship,  holding  her 
head  on  one  side  to  look  him  over,  "  with  a  velvet 
coat  and  some  gold  lace,  and  a  fine  new  periwig 
scented  with  orris  or  jessamine,  and  a  silver-gilt 
sword  and  a  hat  cocked  smartly,  and  a  snuff-box, 
with  a  lady's  picture  in  it.  I  will  give  thee  mine, 
and  thou  shalt  boast  of  it  in  company." 

He  slapped  his  thigh  and  laughed  till  his  red 
face  grew  purple. 

"  Nay,"  he  said,  "  thy  father  was  wrong.     He 


356      HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMQNDE 

said  I  was  a  fool  to  come,  for  such  as  me  and  him 
was  out  of  place  in  town,  and  fine  ladies'  drawing- 
rooms  would  make  us  feel  like  stable-boys.  He 
said  I  would  be  heart-sick  and  shame-faced  in 
twelve  hours,  and  turn  tail  and  come  back  to 
Gloucestershire  like  a  whipt  dog — but  I  shall  not, 
I  swear,  but  shall  be  merrier  and  in  better  heart 
than  I  have  been  since  I  was  young.  It  gets  dull 
in  the  country,  Clo,"  shaking  his  head,  "  when  a 
man  gets  old  and  heavy,  and  'tis  worst  when  he 
has  no  children  left  to  keep  him  stirring.  I  have 
took  a  good  lodging  in  the  town,  and  I  will  dress 
myself  like  a  Court  gentleman  and  go  to  the  coffee 
houses  and  the  play,  and  hear  the  wits.  And  I 
shall  watch  thy  coach-and-six  drive  by  and  tell  the 
company  I  was  thy  playmate  when  thou  wert  Clo 
Wildairs ;  and  thou  art  not  too  fine  a  lady,  even 
now  thou  art  a  Court  beauty  and  a  Countess,  to  be 
kind  to  an  old  fellow  from  the  country." 

He  strutted  away  from  the  mansion,  the  proud 
est  and  happiest  man  in  London,  giving  his  hat  a 
jaunty  cock  and  walking  with  an  air,  his  old  heart 
beating  high  with  joy  to  feel  that  this  beautiful 
creature  had  not  forgot  old  days  and  did  not  dis 
dain  him.  He  went  to  tailors  and  mercers  and 
wig-makers  and  furnished  himself  forth  with  fine 
belongings,  and  looked  a  town  gentleman  indeed 
when  he  came  to  exhibit  himself  to  my  lady;  and 
before  long  the  Mall  and  the  park  became  familiar 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      357 

with  his  sturdy  old  figure  and  beaming-  country 
face,  and  the  beauties  and  beaux  and  wits  began  to 
know  him,  and  that  he  had  been  one  of  Mistress 
Clorinda  Wildairs's  companions  in  her  Glouces 
tershire  days,  and  had  now  come  to  town,  drawn 
simply  by  his  worship  of  her,  that  he  might  de 
light  himself  by  looking  on  at  her  triumphs. 

There  were  many  who  honestly  liked  his  coun 
trified,  talkative  good  nature,  and  inviting  him  to 
their  houses  made  a  favourite  of  him ;  and  there 
were  others  who  encouraged  him,  to  hear  him  tell 
his  stories ;  and  several  modish  beauties  amused 
themselves  by  coquetting  with  him,  one  of  these 
being  my  Lady  Betty  Tantillion,  who  would  tease 
and  ogle  him  until  he  was  ready  to  lose  his  wits 
in  his  elderly  delight.  One  of  her  favourite  tricks 
was  to  pout  at  him  and  twit  him  on  his  adoration 
of  my  Lady  Dunstanwolde,  of  whom  she  was  in 
truth  not  too  fond ;  though  she  had  learned  to  keep 
a  civil  tongue  in  her  head,  since  her  ladyship  was 
a  match  for  half  a  dozen  such,  as  she,  and,  when 
she  chose  to  use  her  cutting  wit,  proved  an  antag 
onist  as  greatly  to  be  feared  as  in  the  days  when 
Lady  Maddon,  the  fair  and  frail  "Willow  Wand," 
had  fallen  into  hysteric  fits  in  the  country  mer- 
cer's  shop. 

"  You  men  always  lose  your  wits  when  you  see 
her,"  she  would  say.  "  'Tis  said  Sir  John  Oxon" — 
with  a  malicious  little  glance  at  that  gentleman, 


358      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

who  stood  near  her  ladyship  across  the  room — 
"  'tis  said  Sir  John  Oxon  lost  more,  and  broke 
a  fine  match,  and  squandered  his  fortune,  and 
sank  into  the  evilest  reputation — all  for  love  of 
her." 

She  turned  to  his  Grace  of  Osmonde,  who  was 
near,  waving  her  fan  languishing.  "  Has  your 
Grace  heard  that  story?"  she  asked.  His  Grace 
approached  smiling — he  never  could  converse  with 
this  young  lady  without  smiling  a  little — she  so 
bore  out  all  the  promise  of  her  school-girl  let 
ters  and  reminded  him  of  the  night  when  he  had 
found  her  brother,  Ensign  Tom,  and  Bob  Langley 
grinning  and  shouting  over  her  homilies  on  the 
Gloucestershire  beauty. 

"Which  one  is  it?"  he  said.  "  Your  ladyship 
has  been  kind  enough  to  tell  me  so  many." 

"'Tis  the  one  about  Sir  John  Oxon  and  her 
ladyship  of  Dunstanwolde,"  she  answered,  with  a 
pretty  simper.  "  All  Gloucestershire  knew  how 
they  were  in  love  with  each  other  when  she  was 
Mistress  Wildairs — until  she  cast  him  off  for  my 
Lord  Dunstanwolde.  'Tis  said  she  drove  him  to 
ruin — but  now  he  has  come  back  to  her,  and  all 
think  she  will  remember  her  first  love  and  yield 
to  him  at  last.  And  surely  it  would  be  a  pretty 
romance." 

"  Jack  Oxon  was  not  drove  to  ruin  by  her  lady 
ship,"  cried  Sir  Chris;  "  not  he.  But  deep  in  love 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      359 

with  her  he  was,  'tis  sure,  and  had  she  been  any 
other  woman  she  must  have  been  melted  by  him. 
Ecod  !  "  looking  across  the  room  at  the  two,  with 
a  reflective  air,  "  I  wonder  if  she  was  !  " 

"  But  look  at  his  eyes  now,"  said  my  Lady 
Betty,  giving  a  side  glance  at  his  Grace.  "  They 
glow  like  fire,  and  wheresoever  she  moves  he 
keeps  them  glued  on  her." 

"  She  doth  not  keep  hers  glued  on  him,"  said 
Sir  Chris,  "  but  looks  away  and  holds  her  head 
up  as  if  she  would  not  see  him." 

"  That  is  her  way  to  draw  him  to  her,"  cried 
Lady  Betty.  "  It  drives  a  man  wild  with  love  to 
be  so  treated — and  she  is  a  shrewd  beauty ;  but 
when  he  can  get  near  enough  he  stands  and  speaks 
into  her  ear — low,  that  none  may  listen.  I  have 
seen  him  do  it  more  than  once,  and  she  pretends 
not  to  hearken,  but  hears  it  all,  and  murmurs  back, 
no  doubt,  while  she  seems  to  gaze  straight  before 
her,  and  waves  her  fan.  I  heard  him  speak  once 
when  he  did  not  think  me  close  to  him,  and  he 
said,  '  Have  you  forgot — have  you  forgot,  Clo- 
rinda?  '  and  she  answered  then,  but  her  words  I 
did  not  hear."  She  waved  her  painted  fan  with  a 
coquettish  flourish.  "  'Tis  not  a  new  way  of  mak 
ing  love,"  she  said  with  arch  knowingness.  "  It 
hath  been  done  before." 

"  He  hath  drawn  near  and  is  speaking  to  her 
now,"  said  Sir  Chris,  staring  wonderingly,  "  but  I 


360      HIS  GRACE  OF   OSMONDE 

• 

swear  it  does  not  look  like  love-making.     He  looks 
like  a  man  who  threatens/' 

"  He  threatens  he  will  fall  on  his  sword  if  she 
will  not  yield,"  laughed  Lady  Betty.  "  They  all 
swear  the  same  thing." 

"  My  lord  Duke  moved  forward.  He  had 
heard  this  talk  often  before  during  the  past  weeks, 
and  he  had  seen  this  man  haunting  her  presence, 
and  always  when  he  was  near  or  spoke  to  her  a 
strange  look  on  her  face,  a  look  as  if  she  made 
some  struggle  with  herself  or  him — and  strangest 
of  all,  though  she  was  so  gracious  to  himself, 
something  in  her  eyes  had  seemed  to  hold  him 
back  from  speaking,  as  if  she  said,  "  Not  yet — not 
yet!  Soon — but  not  yet !  "  and  though  he  had  not 
understood,  it  had  bewildered  him,  and  brought 
back  a  memory  of  the  day  she  had  sate  in  the  car- 
ven  gilded  chair  and  delivered  her  lord's  message 
to  him,  and  her  eyes  had  pleadingly  forbade  him 
to  come  to  Dunstan's  Wolde  while  her  words 
expressed  her  husband's  hospitable  desire.  His 
passion  for  her  was  so  great  and  deep,  'twas  a 
fathomless  pool  whose  depths  were  stirred  by 
every  breath  of  her,  and  so  he  had  even  waited 
till  her  eyes  should  say — "  Now  !" 

He  had  moved  towards  her  this  moment,  be 
cause  she  had  looked  up  at  him,  as  if  she  needed 
he  should  come  nearer.  She  rose  from  her  seat, 
leaving  Sir  John  Oxon  where  he  stood.  His 


HIS  GRACE  OF   OSMONDE      361 

Grace  moved  quicker  and  they  met  in  the  crowd, 
and  as  she  looked  up  at  him,  he  saw  that  she  had 
lost  a  little  of  her  radiant  bloom,  and  she  spoke  in 
a  low  voice  like  a  girl. 

"  Will  your  Grace  take  me  to  my  coach  ?  "  she 
said.  "  I  am  not  well." 

And  he  led  her,  leaning  on  his  arm,  through  the 
crowd  to  Mistress  Anne,  who  was  always  glad  to 
leave  any  assembly — the  more  brilliant  they,  the 
readier  she  to  desert  their  throngs — and  he  es 
corted  them  to  their  coach,  and  before  he  left 
them  asked  a  question  gravely. 

"  Will  your  ladyship  permit  me,"  he  said,  "  to 
wait  on  you  to-morrow  ?  I  would  know  that  your 
indisposition  has  passed." 

My  lady  answered  him  in  a  low  voice  from  the 
coach  ;  her  colour  had  come  back,  and  she  gave 
him  her  hand  which  he  kissed.  Then  the  equi 
page  rolled  away  and  he  entered  his  own,  and 
being  driven  back  to  Osmonde  House  said  to 
himself  gravely,  over  and  over  again,  one  word — 
"  To-morrow ! " 

But  within  two  hours  a  messenger  in  the  royal 
liveries  came  from  Kensington  and  as  quickly  as 
horses  could  carry  him  my  lord  Duke  was  with 
her  Majesty,  whom  he  found  agitated  and  pale, 
important  news  from  France  having  but  just 
reached  her.  Immediate  action  was  necessary, 


362      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

and  there  was  none  who  could  so  well  bear  her 
private  messages  to  the  French  Court  as  could 
the  man  who  had  no  interest  of  his  own  to  serve, 
whom  Nature  and  experience  peculiarly  fitted  for 
the  direction  of  affairs  requiring  discretion,  swift 
ness  of  perception,  self-control,  and  dignity  of 
bearing.  Twas  his  royal  Mistress  herself  who 
said  these  things  to  his  Grace,  and  added  to  her 
gracious  commands  many  condescending  words 
and  proofs  of  confidence,  which  he  received  with 
courtly  obeisance  but  with  a  galled  and  burning 
heart. 

And  on  the  coming  of  the  morrow  he  was  on  his 
way  to  Versailles,  and  my  Lady  Dunstanwolde, 
having  received  news  of  the  sudden  exigency  and 
his  departure,  sate  in  her  chamber  alone  gazing 
as  into  vacancy,  with  a  hunted  look  in  her  wide 
eyes. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 
A  Dead  Rose 

SOVEREIGNS  and  their  thrones,  statesmen  and 
their  intrigues,  favourites  and  their  quarrels — of 
what  moment  are  they  to  a  man  whose  heart  is 
on  fire  and  whose  whole  being  resolves  itself  into 
but  one  thought  of  but  one  creature?  My  lord 
Duke  went  to  France  as  he  was  commanded  ;  he 
had  been  before  at  Versailles  and  Fontainebleau 
and  Saint  Germain,  and  there  were  eyes  which 
brightened  at  the  sight  of  his  tall  form,  and  there 
were  men  who  while  they  greeted  him  with  court 
eous  bows  and  professions  of  flattering  welcome 
exchanged  side  glances  and  asked  each  other 
momentous  questions  in  private.  He  went  about 
his  business  with  discretion  and  diplomatic  skill 
and  found  that  he  had  no  reason  to  despair  of  its 
accomplishment,  but  all  his  thoughts  of  his  er 
rand,  though  he  held  his  mind  steady  and  could 
reason  clearly  on  them,  seemed  to  him  like  the 
thoughts  of  a  man  in  a  dream  who  only  in  his  pri 
vate  moments  awakened  to  the  reality  of  exist 
ence. 

"  'Twas  Fate  again,"  he  said,  "  Fate  !  who  has 
always  seemed  to  stalk  in  between  !  If  I  had  gone 

363 


364      HIS   GRACE   OF  OSMpNDE 

to  her  on  that '  to-morrow/  I  should  have  poured 
forth  my  soul  and  hers  would  have  answered  me. 
But  there  shall  be  another  to-morrow,  and  I  swear 
it  shall  come  soon." 

There  was  but  a  few  hours'  journey  by  land, 
and  the  English  Channel,  between  himself  and 
London,  and  there  was  much  passing  to  and  fro ; 
and  though  the  French  Court  had  stories  enough 
of  its  own,  new  ones  were  always  welcome,  Eng 
lish  gossip  being  thought  to  have  a  special  heavy 
quaintness,  droll  indeed.  The  Court  of  Louis 
found  much  entertainment  in  the  Court  of  Anne, 
and  the  frivolities  or  romances  of  beauties  who  ate 
beef  and  drank  beer  and  wore,  'twas  said,  the  co 
quettish  commode  founded  on  lovely  Fontange's 
lace  handkerchief,  as  if  it  were  a  nightcap. 

"  But  they  have  a  handsome  big  creature  there 
now,  who  is  amazing,"  they  said  with  interest  at 
this  time.  "  She  was  brought  up  a  boy  at  the 
clidtcau  of  her  father,  and  can  fight  with  swords 
like  a  man,  but  is  as  beautiful  as  the  day  and  seven 
feet  tall.  It  would  be  a  pleasure  to  see  her.  She 
is  at  present  a  widow  with  an  immense  fortune, 
and  all  the  gentlemen  fight  duels  over  her." 

Both  masculine  and  feminine  members  of  the 
Court  were  much  pleased  with  this  lady  and 
found  her  more  interesting  and  exciting  than  any 
of  her  sister  beauties.  Naturally  many  unfounded 
anecdotes  of  her  were  current,  and  it  was  said  that 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      365 

she  fought  duels  herself.  It  was  not  long  before 
it  was  whispered  that  the  handsome  Englishman 
Monsieur  le  Due  d'Osmonde,  the  red  blonde  giant 
with  the  great  calm  eyes,  was  one  of  the  two  chief 
pretendants  to  this  picturesque  lady's  favour. 
Thus,  as  was  inevitable,  my  lord  Duke  heard  all 
the  rumours  from  the  English  capital  in  one  form 
or  another.  Some  of  them  were  bitter  things  for 
him  to  hear,  for  all  of  them  more  or  less  touched 
upon  Sir  John  Oxon,  who  seemed  to  follow  her 
from  playhouse  to  assembly  and  to  dog  her  very 
footsteps,  while  all  the  world  looked  on  wonder 
ing,  since  her  ladyship  treated  him  with  such  un 
relenting  coldness  and  disdain. 

His  Grace  had  much  to  do  at  this  time  and  did 
it  well,  but  the  days  seemed  long,  and  each  piece 
of  English  gossip  he  heard  recounted  added  to 
the  length  of  the  twenty-four  hours.  Then  there 
came  a  story  which  created  an  excitement  greater 
than  any  other,  and  was  chattered  over  with  a 
vivacity  which  made  him  turn  pale. 

In  London  the  wonderful  Amazon  Milady  Dun- 
stanwolde  had  provided  the  town  with  a  new  ex 
ample  of  her  courage  and  daring  spirit. 

"  There  was  a  man  who  owned  the  most  dan 
gerous  horse  in  the  country — a  monster,  a  devil." 
So  his  Grace  heard  the  history  related  for  the 
first  time  in  a  great  lady's  salon  to  breathlessly  de 
lighted  listeners.  4<  The  animal  was  a  horror  of 


366      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

vice  and  temper,  but  beautiful,  beautiful.  A  skin 
of  black  satin,  a  form  incomparable  !  He  has 
three  grooms  who  take  care  of  him,  and  all  of 
them  are  afraid  ;  he  bites,  he  kicks,  he  rises  on  his 
hind  legs  and  falls  on  those  who  ride  him.  None 
but  those  three  men  dare  try  to  manage  him. 
Each  one  is  a  wonderful  rider  and  hopes  to  win 
or  subdue  him.  It  is  no  use.  One  morning  the 
first  of  the  three  enters  his  stable  and  does  not 
come  out.  He  is  called  and  does  not  answer. 
Someone  goes  to  look.  He  is  there,  but  he  lies 
in  a  heap,  kicked  to  death.  A  few  days  later  the 
second  one  manages  to  mount  the  horse,  taking 
him  by  surprise.  At  first  the  animal  seems  fright 
ened  into  quietness.  Suddenly  he  begins  to  run; 
he  goes  faster  and  faster,  and  all  at  once  stops,  and 
his  rider  flies  over  his  head  and  is  taken  up  with  a 
broken  neck.  His  owner,  who  is  a  horse  dealer, 
orders  him  to  be  shot,  but  keeps  him  for  a  few 
days  because  he  is  so  handsome.  Who,  think 
you,  hears  of  him  and  comes  to  buy  him  ?  It  is  a 
lady.  '  He  is  the  very  beast  I  want,'  she  says.  '  It 
will  please  me  to  teach  him  there  is  someone 
stronger  than  himself.'  Who  is  it  ? "  asked  the 
narrator,  striking  her  fair  hands  together  in  a  sort 
of  exultation. 

"The  Countess  of  Dunstanwolde!"  broke  in  a 
voice,  and  all  turned  quickly  to  look  at  the  speaker. 
It  was  the  Duke  of  Osmonde. 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      367 

How  did  Monsieur  le  Due  know  at  once,  they 
asked  laughing,  and  he  answered  them  with  a  slight 
smile,  though  someone  remarked  later  that  he 
had  looked  pale.  He  had  known  that  she  was  a 
marvellous  horsewoman,  he  had  seen  her  in  the 
hunting-field  when  she  had  been  a  child,  he  had 
heard  of  her  riding  dangerous  animals  before. 
Everyone  knew  that  she  was  without  fear.  There 
was  no  other  woman  in  England  who  would  dare 
so  much. 

He  spoke  to  them  in  almost  ordinary  tones, 
and  heard  their  exclamations  of  admiration  or 
prophetic  fright  to  the  end,  but  when  he  had 
driven  homeward  and  was  alone  in  his  own  apart 
ment  he  felt  himself  cold  with  dread. 

"And  I  wait  here  at  the  command  of  a  Queen," 
he  said,  "and  cannot  be  loosed  from  my  duty.  And 
Fate  may  come  between  again — again ! " — and  he 
almost  shuddered  the  next  instant  as  he  heard 
the  sound  which  broke  from  his  lips,  'twas  so 
like  a  short,  harsh  laugh  which  mocked  at  his 
own  sharp  horror.  "'Tis  not  right  that  a  wom 
an  should  so  play  with  a  man's  soul,"  he  cried 
fiercely;  "'tis  not  fair  she  should  so  lay  him  on 
the  rack ! " 

But  next,  manlike,  his  own  anguish  melted  him. 

"  She  does  not  know,"  he  said.  "  If  she  knew 
she  would  be  more  gentle.  She  is  very  noble. 
Had  I  spoke  with  her  on  that  to-morrow,  she 


368      HIS  GRACE   OF  OSMONDE 

would  have  obeyed  the  commands  my  love  would 
lay  upon  her." 

"  My  "Lady  Dunstanwolde,"  he  heard  a  day 
later,  "  has  vowed  to  conquer  her  great  horse  or 
be  killed  by  it.  Each  day  she  fights  a  battle  with 
it  in  the  park,  and  all  the  people  crowd  to  look  on. 
Some  say  it  will  kill  her,  and  some  she  will  kill  it. 
She  is  so  strong  and  without  fear." 

4<  To  one  of  her  adorers  she  laughed  and  said 
that  if  the  animal  broke  her  neck,  she  need  battle 
with  neither  men  nor  horses  again.  The  name  of 
her  horse  is  Devil,  and  he  is  said  to  look  like  one. 
Magnifique  !  "  laughed  the  man  who  spoke. 

By  the  third  day,  his  Grace  of  Osmonde's  valet 
began  to  look  anxious.  He  had  attended  his 
master  ten  years  and  had  never  seen  him  look  as 
he  did  in  these  days.  His  impression  was  that 
his  Grace  did  not  sleep,  that  he  had  not  slept  for 
several  nights.  Lexton  had  heard  him  walking  in 
his  room  when  he  ought  to  have  been  in  bed ;  one 
thing  was  certain,  he  did  not  eat  his  meals,  and 
one  thing  Lexton  had  always  affirmed  was  that 
he  had  never  known  a  gentleman  as  fine  and  regu 
lar  in  his  habits  as  his  Grace,  and  had  always  said 
that  'twas  because  he  was  so  regular  that  he  was 
such  a  man  as  he  was — so  noble  in  his  build  and 
so  clear  in  his  eye,  and  with  such  a  grand  bearing. 

At  last,  turns  up  in  the  street  young  Langton, 
who  had  run  over  to  Paris,  as  he  had  a  habit  of 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      369 

doing  when  he  was  out  of  humour  with  his  native 
land,  either  because  his  creditors  pressed  him,  or 
because  some  lady  was  unkind.  And  he  stopped 
my  lord  Duke  in  the  Rue  Royale,  filled  to  the 
brim  with  the  excitement  of  the  news  he  brought 
fresh  from  London. 

"Has  your  Grace  heard  of  my  Lady  Dunstan- 
wolde's  breaking  of  the  horse  Devil?"  he  cried. 
"  The  story  has  reached  Paris,  I  know,  for  I  heard 
it  spoke  of  scarce  an  hour  after  my  arrival.  On 
Tuesday  I  stood  in  Hyde  Park  and  watched  the 
fight  between  them,  and  I  think,  God  knows !  that 
surely  no  woman  ever  mounted  such  a  beast  and 
ran  such  danger  before.  'Tis  the  fashion  to  go 
out  each  morning  and  stand  looking  on  and  lay 
ing  wagers.  The  stakes  run  high.  At  first  the 
odds  were  all  against  my  lady,  but  on  Tuesday 
they  veered  and  were  against  the  horse.  How 
they  can  stand  and  laugh,  and  lay  bets,  Heaven 
knows !  "  He  was  a  good-natured  young  fellow 
and  gave  a  little  shudder.  "  I  could  not  do  it. 
For  all  her  spirit  and  her  wrists  of  steel,  she  is  but 
a  woman  and  a  lovely  creature,  and  the  horse  is 
so  great  a  demon  that  if  he  gets  her  from  his  back 
and  beneath  his  feet — good  Lord  !  it  makes  me 
sick  to  think  of  it."  He  shook  his  shoulders  with 
a  shudder  again.  "  What  think  you,"  he  cried, 
"  I  heard  Jack  Oxon  wager?  He  hath  been  watch 
ing  her  day  after  day  more  fierce  and  eager  than 
24 


370      HIS  GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

the  rest.  He  turned  round  one  moment  when  the 
beast  was  doing  his  worst  and  'twas  life  and  death 
between  them.  And  she  could  hear  his  words, 
too,  mark  you.  '  A  thousand  pounds  against  fifty/ 
he  says  with  his  sneering  laugh ;  *  a  thousand 
pounds  that  she  is  off  his  back  in  five  minutes  and 
that  when  she  is  dragged  away,  what  his  heels  have 
left  of  her  will  bear  no  semblance  to  a  woman ! " 

"Good  God!"  broke  from  the  Duke.  "This 
within  her  hearing  !  Good  God ! " 

"  In  my  belief  'twas  a  planned  thing  to  make 
her  lose  her  nerve,"  said  the  young  fellow.  "  Tis 
my  belief  he  would  gloat  over  the  killing  of  her, 
because  she  has  disdained  him.  Why  is  there  not 
some  man  who  hath  the  right  to  stop  her — I — " 
his  honest  face  reddened — "  what  am  I  to  dare  to 
speak  to  such  a  lady  in  advice.  I  know  it  was  an 
impudence,  and  felt  it  one,  your  Grace,  but  I 
plucked  up  courage  to — to — follow  her  home,  and 
says  I,  bowing  and  as  red  as  a  turkey-cock,  '  My 
lady,  for  the  Lord's  sake  give  up  this  awfulness. 
Think  of  them  that  love  you.  Sure  there  must  be 
some  heart  you  would  tear  in  two.  For  God's 
sake  have  pity  on  it  wheresoever  it  be,  though  I 
beg  your  ladyship's  pardon,  and  'tis  impudence,  I 
know/  " 

My  lord  Duke  caught  his  hand  and  in  the  pas 
sionate  gratitude  of  the  grasp  he  gave  it  forgot 
his  own  strength  and  that  Bob  was  not  a  giant  also. 


HIS   GRACE   OF  OSMONDE      371 

"  God  bless  you  !"  he  cried.  "God  bless  you! 
You  are  a  brave  fellow  !  I — I  am  her  kinsman  and 
am  grateful.  God  bless  you,  man,  and  call  on  Ger 
ald  Mertoun  for  a  friend's  service  when  you  need 
it." 

And  he  strode  away,  leaving  Bob  Langton  star 
ing  after  him  and  holding  his  crushed  hand  ten 
derly,  but  feeling  a  glow  at  his  heart,  for  'tis  not 
every  day  a  careless,  empty-pocketed  young  en 
sign  is  disabled  by  the  grasp  of  a  Duke's  hand, 
and  given  his  friendship  as  the  result  of  a  mere 
artless  impulse  of  boyish  good-nature. 

His  Grace  strode  homeward  and  called  Lexton 
to  him. 

"  We  go  to  England  within  an  hour,"  he  said. 
"  We  may  remain  there  but  a  day.  Not  a  moment 
is  to  be  lost.  'Tis  of  most  serious  import." 

When  he  entered  Osmonde  House,  on  reaching 
the  end  of  his  journey,  the  first  person  he  encoun 
tered  was  Mr.  Fox,  who  had  just  come  in  from 
Hyde  Park,  where  he  had  spent  the  morning. 

"  I  have  been  there  each  day  this  week,  your 
Grace,"  he  said,  and  his  lips  trembled  somewhat 
as  he  wiped  his  brow.  "  It  hath  seemed  to  me  all 
the  town  hath  been  there.  I — your  Grace's  par 
don — but  I  could  not  stay  away  ;  it  seemed  almost 
a  duty.  But  I  would  gladly  have  been  spared  it. 
The  worst  is  over."  And  he  wiped  his  brow 
again,  his  thin,  clerical  countenance  pale.  "  They 


372       HIS   GRACE   OF  OSMONDE 

say  the  horse  is  beat;  but  who  knows  when  such 
a  beast  is  safe,  and  at  this  moment  she  puts  him 
through  his  paces,  and  they  all  look  on  applaud 
ing." 

His  Grace  had  rung  the  bell.  "  Bring  Rupert," 
he  commanded.  "  Rupert." 

And  the  beast  was  brought  without  delay — as 
fiery  a  creature  as  the  horse  Devil  himself,  yet  no 
demon  but  a  spirited  brute,  knowing  his  master 
as  his  master  knew  himself;  and  my  lord  Duke 
came  forth  and  flung  himself  upon  him,  and  the 
creature  sprang  forward  as  if  they  had  been  one, 
and  he  felt  in  every  nerve  that  his  rider  rode  with 
heart  beating  with  passion  which  was  resolute  to 
overleap  every  obstacle  in  its  way,  which  had 
reached  the  hour  when  it  would  see  none,  hear  of 
none,  submit  to  none,  but  sweep  forward  to  its 
goal  as  though  'twere  wind  or  flame. 

A  short  hour  later  all  the  town  knew  that  my 
Lady  Dunstanwolde  had  sealed  her  brilliant  fate. 
And  'twas  not  Sir  John  Oxon  who  was  conqueror, 
but  his  Grace  of  Osmonde,  who,  it  seemed,  had 
swept  down  upon  her  and  taken  possession  of 
his  place  by  her  side  as  a  King  might  have  de 
scended  on  some  citadel  and  claimed  it  for  his 
own.  Great  Heaven !  what  a  thing  it  had  been  to 
behold,  and  how  those  congratulated  themselves 
who  had  indeed  beheld  it — my  lord  Duke  appear- 


HIS   GRACE  OF   OSMONDE      373 

ing  upon  the  scene  as  if  by  magic,  he  who  had 
been  known  to  be  in  France,  and  who  came  almost 
at  full  gallop  beneath  the  trees,  plainly  scarce  see 
ing  the  startled  faces  turned  at  the  sound  of  his 
horse's  hoofs,  the  hats  which  were  doffed  at  sight 
of  him,  the  fair  faces  which  lighted,  the  lovely, 
hurried  courtesies  made,  his  own  eyes  being  fixed 
upon  a  certain  point  on  the  riding-road  where 
groups  stood  about  and  her  ladyship  of  Dunstan- 
wolde  sat  erect  and  glowing  upon  the  back  of  her 
conquered  beast,  the  black  horse  Devil ! 

"  Zounds,  'twas  like  a  play  !  "  cried  Sir  Christo 
pher,  gloating  over  it  when  'twas  past.  "  There 
rides  my  lady  like  an  empress,  Devil  going  as 
dainty  as  a  dancing-master,  and  all  the  grandees 
doffing  hats  to  her  down  the  line.  And  of  a  sud 
den  one  man  hears  hoofs  pounding  and  turns,  and 
there  he  comes,  my  lord  Duke  of  Osmonde,  and  he 
sees  but  one  creature  and  makes  straight  for  her 
— and  she  doth  not  even  hear  him  till  he  is  close 
upon  her,  and  then  she  turns — blushing,  good 
Lord !  the  loveliest  crimson  woman  ever  wore* 
And  in  each  other's  eyes  they  gaze  as  if  Heaven's 
gate  had  opened,  and  'twas  not  earth  that  was  be 
neath  their  horses'  feet,  and  both  forgot  that  poor 
plain  flesh  and  blood  stood  looking  on  !  " 

"  Lud  !  "  minced  Lady  Betty,  applauding  with 
her  fan.  "  We  must  have  it  made  into  a  play 
and  Mrs.  Bracegirdle  shall  perform  it." 


374      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

"  My  old  heart  thumped  to  see  it !  "  said  Sir 
Chris  ;  "  it  thumped,  I  swear ! "  and  he  gave  his 
stout  side  a  feeling  blow.  "  All  her  days  I  have 
known  her,  and  it  came  back  to  me  how,  when 
she  was  but  a  vixen  of  twelve  we  dubbed  her 
Duchess,  and,  ecod !  the  water  came  into  my 
eyes ! " 

"  Because  she  was  a  vixen,  or  because  you  called 
her  Duchess  ?  "  said  my  Lady  Betty,  with  her  ma 
licious  little  air. 

Sir  Christopher  stared  at  her ;  there  was  a  touch 
of  moisture  in  his  old  eyes,  'twas  true ! 

"  Nay,"  he  said,  bluntly,  "  because  she  is  such  a 
damned  fine  woman,  and  'tis  all  come  true  !  " 

The  words  these  two  had  exchanged  before  the 
eyes  of  the  world  only  themselves  could  know — 
they  had  been  but  few,  surely,  and  yet  in  ten  min 
utes  after  their  first  speech  all  those  who  gazed 
knew  that  the  tale  was  told.  And  as  they  rode 
homeward  together  beneath  the  arching  trees  and 
through  the  crowded  streets,  their  faces  wore 
such  looks  as  drew  each  passer-by  to  turn  and 
gaze  after  them,  and  to  themselves  the  whole  great 
world  had  changed;  and  of  a  surety,  nowhere, 
nowhere,  two  hearts  beat  to  such  music,  or  two 
souls  swayed  together  in  such  unison. 

When  they  rode  into  the  court  at  Dunstanwolde 
House,  the  lacqueys,  seeing  them,  drew  up  in  state 
about  the  entrance. 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      375 

"  Look  you,"  said,  in  an  undertone  to  his  fellow, 
one  of  the  biggest  and  sauciest  of  them,  "  'tis  her 
Grace  of  Osmonde  who  returns,  and  we  may  be 
a  great  Duke's  servants  if  we  carry  ourselves  with 
dignity." 

They  bowed  their  lowest  as  the  two  passed  be 
tween  them,  but  neither  the  one  nor  the  other  be 
held  them,  scarce  knowing  that  they  were  present. 
My  lady's  sweet,  tall  body  trembled,  and  her 
mouth's  crimson  trembled  also,  almost  as  if  she 
had  been  a  child.  She  could  not  speak,  but  looked 
up,  softly  smiling,  as  she  led  him  to  a  panelled  par 
lour,  which  was  her  own  chosen  and  beloved 
room.  And  when  they  entered  it,  and  the  door 
closed,  my  lord  Duke,  having  no  words  either, 
put  forth  his  arms  and  took  her  to  his  heart, 
folding  her  close  so  that  she  felt  his  pulsing  breast 
shake.  And  then  he  drew  her  to  the  gilded  chair 
and  made  her  sit,  and  knelt  down  before  her,  and 
laid  his  face  upon  her  lap. 

"  Let  it  stay  there,"  he  cried,  low  and  even 
wildly.  "  Let  it  stay  there — Heart.  If  you  could 
know — if  you  could  know  !  " 

And  then  in  broken  words  he  told  her  of  how, 
when  she  had  sate  in  this  same  chair  before  and 
given  him  her  dead  lord's  message,  he  had  so 
madly  yearned  to  throw  himself  at  her  feet  upon 
his  knees,  and  hide  his  anguished  face  where  now 
it  lay,  while  her  sweet  hand  touched  his  cheek. 


376      HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

"  I  love  you,"  she  whispered,  very  low  and  with 
a  soft,  helpless  sob  in  her  voice.  "  I  love  you," 
for  she  could  think  of  no  other  words  to  say,  and 
could  say  no  more.  And  with  tears  in  his  lion's 
eyes  he  kissed  her  hands  a  thousand  times  as  if 
he  had  been  a  boy. 

"  When  I  was  in  France,"  he  said,  "  and  heard 
of  the  danger  that  you  ran,  my  heart  rebelled 
against  you.  I  cried  that  'twas  not  just  to  so  put 
a  man  to  torture  and  bind  him  to  the  rack.  And 
then  I  repented  and  said  you  did  not  know  or  you 
would  be  more  gentle." 

"  I  will  be  gentle  now,"  she  said,  "  always,  your 
Grace,  always." 

"When  the  sun  rose  each  day,"  he  said,  "I 
could  not  know  it  did  not  rise  upon  your  beauty, 
lying  cold  and  still,  lost — lost  to  me — this  time, 
forever." 

Her  fair  hand  covered  her  eyes,  she  shudder 
ing  a  little. 

"  Nay,  nay,"  she  cried.  "  I — nay,  I  could  not 
be  lost  to  you — again.  Let  us — let  us  pray  God, 
your  Grace,  let  us  pray  God  !  " 

And  to  his  heavenly  rapture  she  put  forth  her 
arms  and  laid  them  round  his  neck,  her  face  held 
back  that  she  might  gaze  at  him  with  her  great 
brimming  eyes.  Indeed  'twas  a  wonder  to  a  man 
to  behold  how  her  stateliness  had  melted  and  she 
was  like  a  yearning,  clinging  girl. 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      377 

He  gazed  at  her  a  moment,  kneeling-  so,  and 
all  the  long  years  rolled  away  and  he  scarce 
dared  to  breathe  lest  he  should  waken  from  his 
dream. 

"  Ah,  Heaven  !  "  he  sighed,  "  there  is  so  much 
to  tell — years,  years  of  pain  which  your  sweet 
soul  will  pity." 

Ah,  how  she  gazed  on  him,  what  longing  ques 
tion  there  was  in  her  eyes ! 

He  took  from  his  breast  a  velvet  case  which 
might  have  held  a  miniature,  but  did  not. 

"  Look — look,"  he  prayed,  "  at  this.  'Tis  a  dead 
rose." 

"  A  rose ! "  says  she,  and  then  starts  and  looks 
up  from  it  to  him,  a  dawning  of  some  thought — 
or  hope — in  her  face.  "A  rose!"  she  uttered, 
scarcely  breathing  it,  as  if  half  afraid  to  speak. 

"  Ah  !  "  he  cried,  "  I  pray  God  you  remember. 
When  it  fell  from  your  breast  that  night — 

She  broke  in,  breathless,  "  The  night  you 
came " 

"  Too  late — too  late,"  he  answered  ;  and  this 
fell  at  my  feet,  and  you  passed  by.  No  night 
since  then  I  have  not  pressed  it  to  my  lips.  No 
day  it  has  not  lain  upon  my  heart  through  all  its 
darkest  hours." 

She  took  it  from  him — gazed  down  at  it  with 
stormy,  filling  eyes,  and  pressing  it  to  her  lips, 
broke  into  tender,  passionate  sobbing. 


378      HIS   GRACE   OF  OSMONDE 

"No  night,  no  day !"  she  cried.  "  Poor  rose! 
dear  rose  !  " 

"  Beloved ! "  he  cried,  and  would  have  folded 
her  to  his  breast,  kissing  her  tears  away  which 
were  so  womanly.  But  she  withdrew  herself  a 
little — holding  up  her  hand. 

"  Wait,  your  Grace;  wait!  "  she  said,  as  if  she 
would  say  more,  almost  as  if  she  was  shaken  by 
some  strange  trouble  and  knew  not  how  to  bear 
its  presence.  And,  of  a  sudden,  seeing  this,  a 
vague  fear  struck  him  and  he  turned  a  little  pale. 

But  the  next  moment  he  controlled  himself; 
'twas  indeed  as  if  he  himself  called  the  receding 
blood  back  to  his  heart,  and  he  took  her  hand  and 
held  it  in  both  his  own,  smiling. 

"  I  have  waited  so  long,"  he  pleaded,  caress 
ingly.  "  I  pray  you — in  Love's  name." 

And  it  was  but  like  her,  he  thought,  that  she 
should  rise  at  this  and  stand  before  him,  her  hand 
laid  upon  her  breast,  her  great  eyes  opening  upon 
him  in  appeal,  as  if  she  were  some  tender  culprit 
standing  at  judgment  bar. 

"  In  Love's  name  !  "  she  cried,  in  a  low,  pant 
ing  voice.  "  Oh,  Love  should  give  so  much.  A 
woman's  treasury  should  be  so  filled  with  rich 
jewels  of  fair  deeds  that  when  Love  comes  she 
may  pour  them  at  his  feet.  And  what  have  I — 
oh,  what  have  I  ?  " 

He  moved  towards  her  with  a  noble  gesture, 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      379 

and  she  came  nearer  and  laid  one  hand  upon  his 
breast  and  one  upon  his  shoulder,  her  uplifted 
face  white  as  a  lily  from  some  wild  emotion,  and 
imploring  him — the  thought  coming  to  him  made 
him  tremble — as  some  lost,  helpless  child  might 
implore. 

"  Is  there  aught,"  she  panted, "  aught  that  could 
come  between  your  soul  and  mine  ?  "  And  she 
was  trembling,  and  her  voice  trembled  and  her 
lips,  and  crystal  drops  on  her  lashes  which,  in 
quivering,  fell.  "  Think,"  she  whispered;  "your 
Grace,  think" 

And  then  a  storm  swept  over  him,  a  storm  of 
love  as  great  as  that  first  storm  of  frenzy  and  de 
spair.  And  he  cried  out  in  terror  at  the  thought 
that  Fate  might  plan  some  trick  to  cheat  him  yet, 
after  the  years — the  years  of  lost,  lost  life,  spent 
as  in  gyves  of  iron. 

"  Great  God  !  No  !  No !  "  he  cried  ;  "  I  am  a  man 
and  you  are  the  life  of  me!  I  come  to  you  not 
as  other  men,  who  love  and  speak  their  passion. 
Mine  has  been  a  burden  hidden  and  borne  so  long. 
It  woke  at  sight  of  a  child,  it  fed  on  visions  of  a 
girl ;  before  I  knew  its  power  it  had  become  my 
life.  The  portals  of  my  person  are  open  and  I  see 
the  sun.  Think  you  I  will  let  them  be  closed — 
be  closed  again?" 

And  he  would  not  be  withheld  and  swept  her  to 
his  breast,  and  she,  lying  there,  clung  to  him  with 


380       HIS   GRACE   OF  OSMONDE 

a  little  sobbing  cry  of  joy  and  gratefulness,  utter 
ing  wild,  sweet,  low,  broken  words. 

"  I  am  so  young,"  she  said.  "  Life  is  so  strong  ; 
the  world  seems  full  of  flowers.  Sure  some  of 
them  are  mine.  My  heart  beats  so— it  so  beats. 
Forgive  !  forgive  !  " 

"  Tis  from  to-day  our  life  begins,"  he  whispered, 
solemnly.  "  And  God  so  deal  with  me,  Heart,  as 
I  shall  deal  with  you." 


CHAPTER  XXV II 
"'Twas  the  night  thou  hidst  the  package  in  the  wall" 

"  So,"  said  the  fashionable  triflers,  "  'twas  the 
Duke  after  all,  and  his  Grace  flies  to  France  to 
draw  his  errand  to  a  close,  and  when  he  flies  back 
again,  upon  the  wings  of  love,  five  villages  will 
roast  oxen  whole  and  drink  ale  to  the  chiming  of 
wedding-bells." 

"  Lud  ! "  said  my  Lady  Betty,  this  time  with 
her  pettish  air,  this  matter  not  being  to  her  liking, 
for  why  should  a  Duke  fall  in  love  with  widows 
when  there  were  exquisite  languishing  unmarried 
ladies  near  at  hand.  "  'Tis  a  wise  beauty  who  sets 
bells  ringing  in  five  villages  by  marrying  a  duke,  in 
stead  of  taking  a  spendthrift  rake  who  is  but  a  bar 
onet  and  has  no  estate  at  all.  I  could  have  told  you 
whom  her  ladyship  would  wed  if  she  were  asked." 

"  If  she  were  asked  !  good  Lord  ! "  cried  Sir 
Chris  Crowell,  as  red  as  a  turkey-cock.  "  And  this 
I  can  tell  you,  'tis  not  the  five  villages  she  marries, 
nor  the  Duke,  but  the  man.  And  'tis  not  the  fine 
lady  he  takes  to  his  heart,  but  our  Clo,  and  none 
other,  and  would  have  taken  her  in  her  smock  had 
she  been  a  beggar  wench.  'Tis  an  honest  love- 
match,  that  I  swear !  " 

381 


382       HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

Thereupon  my  Lady  Betty  laughed. 

"  Those  who  see  Sir  John  Oxon's  face  now,"  she 
said,  "  do  not  behold  a  pretty  thing.  And  my  lady 
sees  it  at  every  turn.  She  can  go  nowhere  but 
she  finds  him  at  her  elbow  glaring." 

"  He  would  play  some  evil  trick  on  her  for  re 
venge,  I  vow,"  said  another  lady.  "  She  hath  Mis 
tress  Anne  with  her  nearly  always  in  these  days, 
as  if  she  would  keep  him  off  by  having  a  com 
panion  ;  but  'tis  no  use,  follow  and  badger  her  he 
will." 

"  Badger  her ! "  blustered  Sir  Chris.  "  He  durst 
not,  the  jackanapes !  He  is  not  so  fond  of  draw 
ing  point  as  he  was  a  few  years  ago." 

4<  'Tis  badgering  and  naught  else,"  said  Mistress 
Lovely.  "  I  have  watched  him  standing  by  and 
pouring  words  like  poison  in  her  ear,  and  she  dis 
daining  to  reply  or  look  as  though  she  heard." 

My  Lady  Betty  laughed  again  with  a  prettier 
venom  still. 

"  He  hath  gone  mad,"  she  said.  "  And  no  won 
der  !  My  woman,  who  knows  a  mercer's  wife  at 
whose  husband's  shop  he  bought  his  finery,  told 
me  a  story  of  him.  He  was  so  deep  in  debt  that 
none  would  give  him  credit  for  an  hour,  until 
the  old  Earl  of  Dunstanwolde  died,  when  he  per 
suaded  them  that  he  was  on  the  point  of  marrying 
her  ladyship.  These  people  are  so  simple  they 
will  believe  anything,  and  they  watched  him  go 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      383 

to  her  house  and  knew  he  had  been  her  worship 
per  before  her  marriage.  And  so  they  gave  him 
credit  again.  Thence  his  fine  new  wardrobe  came. 
And  now  they  have  heard  the  news  and  have  all 
run  mad  in  rage  at  their  own  foolishness,  and  are 
hounding  him  out  of  his  life." 

The  two  ladies  made  heartless  game  enough  of 
the  anecdote.  Perhaps  both  had  little  spites  of 
their  own  against  Sir  John,  who  in  his  heyday 
had  never  spoke  with  a  woman  without  laying 
siege  to  her  heart  and  vanity,  though  he  might 
have  but  five  minutes  to  do  it  in.  Lady  Betty,  at 
least,  'twas  known  had  once  had  coquettish  and 
sentimental  passages  with  him,  if  no  more ;  and 
whether  'twas  her  vanity  or  her  heart  which  had 
been  wounded,  some  sting  rankled,  leaving  her 
with  a  malice  against  him  which  never  failed  to 
show  itself  when  she  spoke  or  heard  his  name. 

A  curious  passage  took  place  between  them 
but  a  short  time  after  she  had  told  her  story  of  his 
tricking  of  his  creditors.  'Twas  at  a  Court  ball  and 
was  a  whimsical  affray  indeed,  though  chiefly  re 
membered  afterwards  because  of  the  events  which 
followed  it — one  of  them  occurring  upon  the  spot, 
another  a  day  later,  this  second  incident  being  a 
mystery  never  after  unravelled.  At  this  ball  was 
my  Lady  Dunstanwolde  in  white  and"  silver,  and 
looking,  some  said,  like  a  spirit  in  the  radiance  of 
her  happiness. 


384      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

"  For  'tis  pure  happiness  that  makes  Jier  shine 
so,"  said  her  faithful  henchman,  old  Sir  Chris 
topher.  "  Surely  she  hath  never  been  a  happy 
woman  before,  for  never  hath  she  smiled  so  since 
I  knew  her  first,  a  child.  She  looks  like  a  creat 
ure  born  again." 

Lady  Betty  Tantillion  engaged  in  her  encounter 
in  an  antechamber  near  the  great  saloon.  Her 
ladyship  had  a  pretty  way  of  withdrawing  from 
the  moving  throng  at  times  to  seek  comparative 
seclusion  and  greater  ease.  There  was  more 
freedom  where  there  would  be  exchange  of  wits 
and  glances,  not  overheard  and  beheld  by  the 
whole  world ;  so  her  ladyship  had  a  neat  taste  in 
nooks  and  corners,  where  a  select  little  court  of 
her  own  could  be  held  by  a  charming  fair  one. 
Thus  it  fell  that  after  dancing  in  the  ball-room 
with  one  admirer  and  another,  she  made  her  way, 
followed  by  two  of  the  most  attentive,  to  a  pretty 
retiring-room  quite  near. 

'Twas  for  the  moment,  it  seemed,  deserted,  but 
when  she  entered  with  her  courtiers,  the  exquisite 
Lord  Charles  Lovelace  and  his  friend  Sir  Harry 
Granville,  a  gentleman  turned  from  a  window 
where  he  seemed  to  have  been  taking  the  air 
alone,  and  seeing  them  uttered  under  his  breath  a 
malediction. 

"  To  the  devil  with  them  !  "  he  said,  but  the 
next  moment  advanced  with  a  somewhat  mocking 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      385 

smile,  which  was  scarce  hidden  by  his  elaborate 
bow  of  ceremony  to  her  ladyship. 

"  My  Lady  Betty  Tantillion  !  "  he  exclaimed, 
"  I  did  not  look  for  such  fortune.  'Tis  not  neces 
sary  to  hope  your  ladyship  blooms  in  health. 
'Tis  an  age  since  we  met." 

Since  their  rupture  they  had  not  spoken  with 
each  other,  but  my  Lady  Betty  had  used  her  eyes 
well  when  she  had  beheld  him  even  at  a  distance, 
and  his  life  she  knew  almost  as  well  as  if  they  had 
been  married  and  she  a  jealous  consort. 

But  she  stood  a  moment  regarding-  him  with  an 
impertinent  questioning  little  stare,  and  then  held 
up  her  quizzing-glass  and  uttered  an  exclamation 
of  sad  surprise. 

"  Sir  John  Oxon  !  "  she  said.  "  How  changed  ! 
how  changed  !  Sure  you  have  been  ill,  Sir  John, 
or  have  met  with  misfortunes." 

To  the  vainest  of  men  and  the  most  galled — he 
who  had  been  but  a  few  years  gone  the  most 
lauded  man  beauty  in  the  town,  who  had  been 
sought,  flattered,  adored — 'twas  a  bitter  little  stab, 
though  he  knew  well  the  giver  of  the  thrust.  Yet 
he  steeled  himself  to  bow  again,  though  his  eyes 
flashed. 

"  I  have  indeed  been  ill  and  in  misfortune/'  he 
answered,  sardonically.    "  Can  a  man  be  in  health 
and  fortunate  when  your  ladyship  has  ceased  to 
smile  upon  him  ?" 
25 


386      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

My  Lady  Betty  courtesied  with  a  languid  air. 

"  Lord  Charles,"  she  said,  with  indifferent  con 
descension,  "  Sir  Harry,  you  have  heard  of  this 
gentleman,  though  he  was  before  your  day.  In 
his — "  (as  though  she  recalled  the  past  glories 
of  some  antiquated  beau)  "  you  were  still  at  the 
University." 

Then  as  she  passed  to  a  divan  to  seat  herself 
she  whispered  an  aside  to  Lord  Charles,  holding 
up  her  fan. 

"  The  ruined  dandy,"  she  said,  "  who  is  mad  for 
my  Lady  Dunstanwolde.  Ask  him  some  question 
of  his  wife  ?  " 

Whereupon  Lord  Charles,  who  was  willing 
enough  to  join  in  badgering  a  man  who  had  still 
good  looks  enough  to  prove  a  rival  had  he  the 
humour,  turned  with  a  patronising  air  of  civility. 

"  My  Lady  Oxon  is  not  with  you  ?  "  he  ob 
served. 

"  There  is  none,  your  lordship,"  Sir  John  an 
swered,  and  almost  ground  his  teeth,  seeing  the 
courteous  insolence  of  the  joke.  "  I  am  a  single 
man." 

"  Lud  !  "  cried  my  Lady  Betty,  fanning  with 
graceful  indifference.  "  'Twas  said  you  were  to 
marry  a  great  fortune,  and  all  were  filled  with 
envy.  What  become,  then,  of  the  fair  Mistress 
Isabel  Beaton  ?  " 

"  She  returned  to  Scotland,  your  ladyship,"  re- 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      387 

plied  Sir  John,  his  eyes  transfixing  her.  "  Ere 
now  'tis  ancient  history." 

"  Fie,  Sir  John,"  said  Lady  Betty,  laughing 
wickedly,  "  to  desert  so  sweet  a  creature.  So 
lovely — and  so  rich  !  Men  are  not  wise  as  they 
once  were." 

Sir  John  drew  nearer  to  her  and  spoke  low. 
"  Your  ladyship  makes  a  butt  of  me,"  he  said. 
And  'twas  so  ordained  by  Fate,  at  this  moment 
when  the  worst  of  him  seethed  within  his  breast, 
and  was  ripest  for  mad  evil,  Sir  Christopher 
Crowell  came  bustling  into  the  apartment,  full  of 
exultant  hilarity  and  good  wine  which  he  had 
been  partaking  of  in  the  banqueting-hall  with 
friends. 

"Good  Lord!"  he  cried,  having  spoke  with 
Lady  Betty ;  "  what  ails  thee,  Jack  ?  Thy  very 
face  is  a  killjoy." 

"'Tis  repentance,  perhaps,"  said  Lady  Betty. 
"  We  are  reproaching  him  with  deserting  Mis 
tress  Beaton — who  had  even  a  fortune." 

Sir  Christopher  glanced  from  Sir  John  to  her 
ladyship  and  burst  forth  into  a  big  guffaw,  his 
convivialities  having  indeed  robbed  him  of  dis 
cretion. 

"  He  desert  her  !  "  said  he.  "  She  jilted  him  and 
took  her  fortune  to  a  Marquis!  'Twas  thine  own 
fault,  too,  Jack.  Hadst  thou  been  even  a  decent 
rake  she  would  have  had  thee." 


388      HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

"By  God!"  cried  Sir  John,  starting  and  turn 
ing  livid ;  and  then  catching  a  sight  of  the  de 
light  in  my  Lady  Betty's  face,  who  had  set  out 
to  enrage  him  before  her  company,  he  checked 
himself  and  broke  into  a  contemptuous,  short 
laugh. 

"  These  be  country  manners,  Sir  Christopher," 
he  said.  "  In  Gloucestershire  bumpers  are  tossed 
off  early,  and  a  banquet  added  turns  a  man's  head 
and  makes  him  garrulous." 

"  Ecod !  "  said  Sir  Christopher,  grinning.  "  A 
nice  fellow  he  is  to  twit  a  man  with  the  bottle. 
Myself,  I've  seen  him  drunk  for  three  days." 

Whereupon  there  took  place  a  singular  change 
in  Sir  John  Oxon's  look.  His  face  had  been  so 
full  of  rage  but  a  moment  ago  that,  at  Sir  Chris's 
second  sally,  Lady  Betty  had  moved  slightly  in 
some  alarm.  Town  manners  were  free,  but  not 
quite  so  free  as  those  of  the  country,  and  Sir 
John  was  known  to  be  an  ill-tempered  man.  If 
the  two  gentlemen  had  quarrelled  about  her  lady 
ship's  own  charms  'twould  have  been  a  different 
matter,  but  to  come  to  an  encounter  over  a  mere 
drinking-bout  would  be  a  vulgar,  ignominious 
thing  in  which  she  had  no  mind  to  be  mixed  up. 

"  Lord,  Sir  Christopher,"   she   exclaimed,  tap 
ping   him    with   her    fan.      "  Three   days !      For 
shame  !  " 
•  But  though  Sir  John  had  started  'twas  not  in 


HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE      389 

rage.  Three  days  carousing  with  this  old  block 
head  !  When  had  he  so  caroused  ?  He  could 
have  laughed  aloud.  Never  since  that  time  he 
had  left  Wildairs,  bearing  with  him  the  lock  of 
raven  hair — his  triumph  and  his  proof.  No,  'twas 
not  in  anger  he  started  but  through  a  sudden 
shock  of  recollection,  of  fierce,  eager  hope,  that  at 
last,  in  the  moment  of  his  impotent  humiliation, 
he  had  by  chance — by  a  very  miracle  of  chance- 
come  again  upon  what  he  had  so  long  searched 
for  in  helpless  rage — that  which  would  give  pow 
er  into  his  hand  and  vengeance  of  the  bitter 
est. 

And  he  had  come  upon  it  among  chatterers  in 
a  ball-room  through  the  vinous  babbling  of  a  gar 
rulous  fool. 

"  Three  days !  "  he  said,  and  took  out  his  snuff 
box  and  tapped  it,  laughing  jeeringly.  And  this 
strange  thing  my  Lady  Betty  marked,  that  his 
white  hand  shook  a  little  as  if  from  hidden  ex 
citement.  "  Three  days  !  "  he  mocked. 

"  No  man  of  fashion  now,"  said  Lord  Charles, 
and  tapped  his  snuff-box  also,  "  is  drunk  for  more 
than  two." 

But  Sir  Christopher  felt  he  was  gaining  a  vic 
tory  before  her  ladyship's  very  eyes,  which  always 
so  mocked  and  teased  him  for  his  clumsiness  in 
any  encounter  of  words,  wherefore  he  pressed  his 
point  gleefully. 


390      HIS  GRACE  OF   OSMONDE 

"  Three  days !  "  cries  he.     "  'Twas  nearer  four." 

Sir  John  turned  on  him,  laughing  still,  seeming 
in  very  truth  as  if  the  thing  amused  him. 

"  When,  when  ?  "  he  said.  "  Never,  I  swear ! " 
and  held  a  pinch  of  snuff  in  his  fingers  daintily, 
his  eyes  gleaming  blue  as  sapphires  through  the 
new  light  in  them. 

"  Swear  away  ! "  cried  Sir  Christopher  ;  "  thou 
wast  too  drunk  to  remember.  'Twas  the  night 
thou  hidst  the  package  in  the  wall." 

Then  he  burst  forth  again  in  laughter,  for  Sir 
John  had  so  started  that  he  forgot  his  pinch  of 
snuff  and  scattered  it. 

"  Canst  see  'tis  no  slander,  my  lady,"  he  cried, 
pointing  at  Sir  John,  who  stood  like  a  man  who 
wakes  from  long  sleep  and  is  bewildered  by  the 
thoughts  which  rush  through  his  brain.  "  I 
laughed  till  I  was  like  to  crack  my  sides."  Then 
to  Sir  John,  "Thou  hadst  but  just  left  Clo  Wild- 
airs  and  I  rode  with  thee  to  Essex.  Lord,  how  I 
laughed  to  watch  thee  groping  to  find  a  place  safe 
enough  to  put  it  in.  'I'm  drunk/  says  thou, '  and 
I  would  have  it  safe  till  I  am  sober.  Twill  be  safe 
here,'  and  stuffed  it  in  the  broken  plaster  'neath 
the  window-sill.  And  safe  it  was,  for  I'll  warrant 
thou  hast  not  thought  of  it  since,  and  safe  thou'lt 
find  it  at  the  Cow  at  Wickben  still." 

Sir  John  struck  one  closed  hand  sudden  on  the 
palm  of  the  other. 


HIS  GRACE   OF  OSMONDE      391 

"  It  comes  back  to  thee,"  cried  Sir  Christopher, 
with  a  grimace  aside  at  his  audience. 

"Ay,  it  comes  back,"  answers  Sir  John;  "it 
comes  back."  And  he  broke  forth  into  a  short, 
excited  laugh,  there  being  in  its  sound  a  note  of 
triumph  almost  hysteric;  and  hearing  this  they 
stared,  for  why  in  such  case  he  should  be  trium 
phant,  Heaven  knew. 

"  'Twas  a  love-token  ! "  said  Lady  Betty,  simper 
ing,  for  of  a  sudden  he  had  become  another  man — 
erect,  no  longer  black-visaged,  but  gallant,  and 
smiling  with  his  old  charming,  impudent,  irresist 
ible  air.  He  bent  and  took  her  hand  and  kissed 
her  finger-tips  with  this  same  old  enchanting  in 
solence. 

"  Had  your  ladyship  given  it  to  me,"  he  said, 
"  I  had  not  hid  it  in  a  wall,  but  in  my  heart."  And 
with  a  soft  glance  and  a  smiling  bow  he  left  their 
circle  and  sauntered  towards  the  ball-room. 

"  Twas  the  last  time  I  spoke  with  him,"  said 
my  Lady  Betty,  when  he  was  talked  of  later.  "  I 
wonder  if  'twas  in  his  head  when  he  kissed  my 
hand — if  indeed  'twas  a  matter  he  himself  planned 
or  had  aught  to  do  with.  Faith !  though  he  was 
a  villain  he  had  a  killing  air  when  he  chose." 

When  her  ladyship  had  played  off  all  her  airs 
and  graces  upon  her  servitors  she  led  them  again 
to  the  ball-room  that  she  might  vary  her  triumphs 


392       HIS   GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

and  fascinations.  A  minuet  was  being  played, 
and  my  Lady  Dunstanvvolde  was  among  the  dan 
cers,  moving  stately  and  slow  in  her  white  and 
silver,  while  the  crowd  looked  on,  telling  each 
other  of  the  preparations  being  made  for  her  mar 
riage,  and  that  my  lord  Duke  of  Osmonde  was 
said  to  worship  her,  and  could  scarce  live  through 
the  hours  he  was  held  from  her  in  France. 

Among  the  watchers,  and  listening  to  the  group 
as  he  watched,  stood  Sir  John  Oxon.  He  stood 
with  a  graceful  air  and  watched  her  steadily,  and 
there  was  a  gleam  of  pleasure  in  his  glance. 

"  He  has  followed  and  gazed  at  her  so  for  the 
last  half-hour,"  said  Mistress  Lovely.  "  Were  I 
the  Duke  of  Osmonde  I  would  command  him  to 
choose  some  other  lady  to  dog  with  his  eyes. 
Now  the  minuet  is  ending  I  would  wager  he  will 
follow  her  to  her  seat  and  hang  about  her." 

And  this  indeed  he  did  when  the  music  ceased, 
but  'twas  done  with  a  more  easy,  confident  air 
than  had  been  observed  in  him  for  some  time 
past.  He  did  not  merely  loiter  in  her  vicinity, 
but  when  the  circle  thinned  about  her  he  made 
his  way  through  it  and  calmly  joined  her. 

"Does  he  pay  her  compliments?  "  said  Lord 
Charles,  who  looked  on  at  a  distance.  "  Faith,  if 
he  does,  she  does  not  greatly  condescend  to  him. 
I  should  be  frozen  by  a  beauty  who,  while  I  strove 
to  melt  her,  did  not  deign  to  turn  her  eyes.  Ah, 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      393 

she  has  turned  them  now.  What  has  he  said  ?  It 
must  have  been  fire  and  flame  to  move  her. 
What's  this— what's  this  ?" 

He  started  forward,  as  all  the  company  did— 
for  her  ladyship  of  Dunstanwolde  had  risen  to 
her  full  height  with  a  strange  movement  and, 
standing  a  moment  swaying,  had  fallen  at  Sir 
John  Oxon's  feet,  white  in  a  death-like  swoon. 


CHAPTER  XX WII 
Sir  John  Rides  out  of  Town 

TOM  TANTILLION  had  not  appeared  at  the  ball, 
having  otherwise  entertained  himself  for  the  even 
ing,  but  at  an  hour  when  most  festivities  were  at 
an  end  and  people  were  returning  from  them,  roll 
ing  through  the  streets  in  their  coaches,  the  young 
man  was  sitting  at  a  corner  table  in  Cribb's  Cof- 
fee-House  surrounded  by  glasses  and  jolly  com 
panions  and  clouds  of  tobacco-smoke. 

One  of  these  companions  had  been  to  the  ball 
and  left  it  early,  and  had  fallen  to  talking  of  great 
personages  he  had  seen  there,  and  describing  the 
beauties  who  had  shone  the  brightest,  among 
them  speaking  of  my  Lady  Dunstanwolde  and 
the  swoon  which  had  so  amazed  those  who  had 
seen  it. 

"  I  was  within  ten  feet  of  her,"  says  he,  "  and 
watching  her  as  a  man  always  does  when  he  is 
near  enough.  Jack  Oxon  stood  behind  her,  and 
was  speaking  low  over  her  shoulder,  but  she  seem 
ing  to  take  little  note  of  him  and  looking  straight 
before  her.  And  of  a  sudden  she  stands  upright, 
her  black  eyes  wide  open  as  if  some  sound  had 
startled  her,  and  the  next  minute  falls  like  a 

394 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      395 

woman  dropping  dead,  and  lies  among  her  white 
and  silver  like  one  carven  out  of  stone.  One  who 
knows  her  well — old  Sir  Chris  Crowell — says  she 
hath  never  fallen  in  a  swoon  before  since  she  was 
born.  Gad !  'twas  a  strange  sight — 'twas  so  sud 
den."  He  had  just  finished  speaking,  and  was 
filling  his  glass  again,  when  a  man  strode  into  the 
room  in  such  haste  that  all  turned  to  glance  at 
him. 

He  was  in  riding-dress,  and  was  flushed  and  ex 
cited,  and  smiling  as  if  to  himself. 

"  Drawer  !  "  he  called,  "  bring  me  coffee  and 
brandy,  and,  damme !  be  in  haste." 

Young  Tantillion  nudged  his  nearest  compan 
ion  with  his  elbow. 

"  Jack  Oxon,"  he  said.  "  Where  rides  the  fel 
low  at  this  time  of  night  ?  " 

"  Eh,  Jack  !  "  he  said,  aloud,  "  art  on  a  journey 
already,  after  shining  at  the  Court  ball  ?  " 

Sir  John  started,  and  seeing  who  spoke,  an 
swered  with  an  ugly  laugh. 

"  Ay,"  said  he,  "  I  ride  to  the  country  in  hot 
haste.  I  go  to  Wickben  in  Essex,  to  bring  back 
a  thing  I  once  left  there." 

"  'Twas  a  queer  place  to  leave  valuables,"  said 
Tom — "  a  village  of  tumble-down  thatched  cot 
tages.  Was't  a  love-token  or  a  purse  of  gold  ?  " 

Sir  John  gave  his  knee  a  sudden  joyous  slap, 
and  laughed  aloud. 


396      HIS  GRACE  OF   OSMONDE 

"  Twas  a  little  thing,"  he  replied,  "  but  'twill 
bring  back  fortune — if  I  find  it — and  help  me  to 
pay  back  old  scores,  which  is  a  thing  I  like  better." 
And  his  grin  \Yas  so  ugly  that  Tom  and  his  com 
panions  glanced  aside  at  each  other,  believing 
that  he  was  full  of  liquor  already,  and  ready  to 
pick  a  quarrel  if  they  continued  their  talk.  This 
they  were  not  particularly  inclined  to,  however, 
and  began  a  game  of  cards,  leaving  him  to  himself 
to  finish  his  drink.  This  he  did,  quickly  tossing 
down  both  brandy  and  coffee  the  instant  they  were 
brought  to  him,  and  then  striding  swaggering 
from  the  room  and  mounting  his  horse,  which 
waited  in  the  street,  and  riding  clattering  off 
over  the  stones  at  a  fierce  pace. 

"  Does  he  ride  for  a  wager  ?  "  said  Will  Lovell, 
dealing  the  cards. 

"  He  rides  for  some  ill  purpose,  I  swear,"  said 
Tom  Tantillion.  "  Jack  Oxon  never  went  in  haste 
towards  an  honest  deed  ;  but  to  play  some  devil's 
trick  'tis  but  nature  to  him  to  go  full  speed." 

But  what  he  rode  for  they  never  heard,  neither 
they  nor  anyone  else  who  told  the  story,  though 
'twas  sure  that  if  he  went  to  Wickben  he  came 
back  to  town  for  a  few  hours  at  least,  for  there 
were  those  who  saw  him  the  next  day,  but  only 
one  there  was  who  spoke  with  him,  and  that  one 
my  Lady  Dunstanwolde  herself. 

Her  ladyship  rode  out  in  the  morning  hoping, 


HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE      397 

'twas  said,  that  the  fresh  air  and  exercise  would 
restore  her  strength  and  spirits.  She  rode  with 
out  attendant,  and  towards  the  country,  and  in 
the  high  road  Sir  John  Oxon  joined  her. 

"  I  did  not  know  he  had  been  out  of  town,"  she 
said,  when  the  mystery  was  discussed.  "  He  did 
not  say  so.  He  returned  to  Dunstanwolde  House 
with  me,  and  we  had  talk  together.  He  had 
scarce  left  me  when  I  remembered  that  I  had  for 
got  to  say  a  thing  to  him  I  had  wished  to  say.  So 
I  sent  Jenfry  forth  quickly  to  call  him  back.  He 
had  scarce  had  time  to  turn  the  street's  corner, 
but  Jenfry  returned,  saying  he  was  not  within 
sight." 

"  Whereupon  you  sent  a  note  to  his  lodgings, 
was't  not  so?"  asked  Sir  Christopher. 

"  Yes,"  answered  her  ladyship,  "  but  he  had  not 
returned  there." 

"  Nor  ever  did,"  said  Sir  Christopher,  whenever 
the  mystery  was  referred  to  afterwards ;  "  nor  ever 
did,  and  where  he  went  to  from  that  hour  only 
the  devil  knows,  for  no  man  or  woman  that  one 
has  heard  of  has  ever  clapt  eyes  on  him  since." 

This  was,  indeed,  the  mysterious  truth.  After 
he  entered  the  Panelled  Parlour  at  Dunstanwolde 
House  it  seemed  that  none  had  seen  him,  for  the 
fact  was  that  by  a  strange  chance  even  the  lacquey 
who  should  have  been  at  his  place  in  the  entrance 
hall  had  allowed  himself  to  be  ensnared  from  his 


398      HIS  GRACE  OF   OSMONDE 

duty  by  a  pretty  serving-wench,  and  had  left  his 
post  for  a  few  minutes  to  make  love  to  her  in  the 
servants'  hall,  during  which  time  'twas  plain  Sir 
John  must  have  left  the  house,  opening  the  en 
trance-door  for  himself  unattended. 

"  Lord,"  said  the  lacquey  in  secret  to  his  mates, 
"  my  gizzard  was  in  my  throat  when  her  ladyship 
began  to  question  me.  '  Did  you  see  the  gentle 
man  depart,  Martin?'  says  she.  '  'Twas  you  who 
attended  him  to  the  door,  of  a  surety.'  'Yes, 
your  ladyship,'  stammers  I.  ''Twas  I  —  and  I 
marked  he  seemed  in  haste/  '  Did  you  not  ob 
serve  him  as  he  walked  away?'  says  my  lady. 
'  Did  you  not  see  which  way  he  went?'  '  To  the 
left  he  turned,  my  lady,'  says  I,  cold  sweat  break 
ing  out  on  me,  for  had  I  faltered  in  an  answer  she 
would  have  known  I  was  lying  and  guessed  1  had 
broke  her  orders  by  leaving  my  place  by  the  door 
— and  Lord  have  mercy  on  a  man  when  she  finds  he 
has  tricked  her.  There  is  a  flash  in  her  eye  like 
lightning,  and  woe  betide  him  it  falls  on.  But 
truth  was  that  from  the  moment  the  door  of  the 
Panelled  Parlour  closed  behind  him  the  gentle 
man's  days  were  ended,  for  all  I  saw  of  him,  for  I 
saw  him  no  more." 

And  there  was  none  who  saw  him,  for  from 
that  time  he  disappeared  from  his  lodgings,  from 
the  town,  from  England,  from  the  surface  of  the 
earth,  as  far  as  any  ever  heard  or  discovered, 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      399 

none  knowing  where  he  went,  or  how,  or  where 
fore. 

Had  he  been  a  man  of  greater  worth  or  impor 
tance,  or  one  who  had  made  friends,  his  so  dis 
appearing  would  have  aroused  a  curiosity  and 
excitement  not  easily  allayed  ;  but  a  vicious  was 
trel  who  has  lost  hold  even  on  his  whilom  com 
panions  in  evil-doing,  and  has  no  friends  more 
faithful,  is  like,  indeed,  on  dropping  out  of  the 
world's  sight,  to  drop  easily  and  lightly  from  its 
mind,  his  loss  being  a  nine  days'  wonder  and  noth 
ing  more. 

So  it  was  with  this  one,  who  had  had  his  day 
of  being  the  fashion  and  had  broken  many  a  fine 
lady's  brittle  heart,  and,  living  to  be  no  longer  the 
mode,  had  seen  the  fragile  trifles  cemented  to 
gether  again,  to  be  almost  as  good  as  new.  When 
he  was  gone  he  was  forgot  quickly  and,  indeed, 
more  talked  about  because  her  ladyship  of  Dun- 
stanwolde  had  last  beheld  him,  and  on  the  after 
noon  had  been  entertaining  company  in  the  Pan 
elled  Parlour  when  the  lacquey  had  brought 
back  the  undelivered  note  with  which  Jenfry  had 
waited  three  hours  at  the  lost  man's  lodgings  in 
the  hope  that  he  would  return  to  them,  which  he 
did  no  more. 

"  'Tis  a  good  riddance  to  all,  my  lady,  whereso 
ever  he  be  gone,"  said  Sir  Christopher,  sitting 
nursing  his  stout  knee  in  the  blue  parlour  a  week 


400       HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

later  (for  her  ladyship  had  had  a  sudden  fancy  to 
have  the  panelled  room  made  wholly  new  and 
decorated  before  the  return  of  his  Grace  from 
France).  "  Tis  a  good  riddance  to  all." 

Then  he  fell  to  telling  stories  of  the  man,  of  the 
creditors  he  had  left  in  the  lurch,  having  swin 
dled  them  of  their  very  hearts'  blood,  and  that 
every  day  there  was  heard  of  some  poor  trades 
man  he  had  ruined,  till  'twas  a  shame  to  hear  it 
told ;  and  there  were  worse  things— worse  things 
yet! 

"  By  the  Lord!"  he  said,  "the  ruin  one  man's 
life  can  bring  about,  the  heartbreak,  and  the 
shame  !  'Tis  enough  to  make  even  a  sinner  as  old 
as  I,  repent,  to  come  upon  them  face  to  face.  Eh, 
my  lady?"  looking  at  her  suddenly,  "thou  must 
get  back  the  roses  thou  hast  lost  these  three  days 
nursing  Mistress  Anne,  or  his  Grace  will  be  at 
odds  with  us  every  one." 

For  Mistress  Anne  had  been  ailing,  and  her  sis 
ter  being  anxious  and  watching  over  her  had  lost 
some  of  her  glorious  bloom,  which  was  indeed  a 
new  thing  to  see.  At  this  moment  the  roses 
had  dropped  from  her  cheeks  and  she  smiled 
strangely. 

"  They  will  return,"  she  said,  "  when  his  Grace 
does." 

She  asked  questions  of  the  stories  Sir  Chris 
topher  had  told  and  showed  anxiousness  concern- 


HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE      401 

ing  the  poor  people  who  had  been  so  hardly 
treated. 

"  I  have  often  thought,"  she  said,  "  that  so  rich 
a  woman  as  I  should  set  herself  some  task  of  good 
deeds  to  do.  'Twould  be  a  good  work  to  take  in 
hand  the  undoing  of  the  wrongs  a  man  who  is 
lost  has  left  behind  him.  Why  should  not  I,  Clo 
Wildairs,  take  in  hand  the  undoing  of  this  man's  ?  " 
And  she  rose  up  suddenly  and  stood  before  him, 
straight  and  tall,  the  colour  coming  out  on  her 
cheeks  as  if  life  flooded  back  there. 

"  Thou ! "  he  cried,  gazing  at  her  in  loving 
wonder.  "  Why  shouldst  thou,  Clo?"  None 
among  them  had  ever  understood  her  and  her 
moods,  and  he  surely  did  not  understand  this  one 
— for  it  seemed  as  if  a  fire  leaped  up  within  her, 
and  she  spoke  almost  wildly. 

"  Because  I  would  atone  for  all  my  past,"  she 
said,  "  and  cleanse  myself  with  unceasing  mercies, 
and  what  I  cannot  undo,  do  penance  for — that  I 
may  be  worthy — worthy." 

She  broke  off  and  drew  her  hand  across  her 
eyes,  and  ended  with  a  strange  little  sound,  half 
laugh. 

"  Perhaps  all  men  and  women  have  been  evil," 
she  said,  "and  some  are — some  seem  fated !  And 
when  my  lord  Duke  comes  back,  I  shall  be  happy 
— happy — in  spite  of  all;  and  I  scarce  dare  to 
think  my  joy  may  not  be  taken  from  me.  Is  joy 
26 


402       HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

always  torn  away  after  it  has  been  given  to  a  hu 
man  thing — given  for  just  so  long,  as  will  make 
loss,  madness  ?  " 

"  Eh,  my  lady !  "  he  said,  blundering,  "  thou  art 
fearful,  just  as  another  woman  might  be.  'Tis  not 
like  Clo  Wildairs.  Such  thoughts  will  not  make 
thee  a  happy  woman." 

She  ended  with  a  laugh  stranger  than  her  first 
one,  and  her  great  black  eyes  were  fixed  on  him 
as  he  had  remembered  seeing  her  fix  them  when 
she  was  a  child  and  full  of  some  wild  fancy  or 
weird  sadness. 

"'Tis  not  Clo  Wildairs  who  thinks  them,"  says 
she ;  "  'tis  another  woman.  'Twas  Clo  who  knew 
John  Oxon  who  is  gone — and  was  as  big  a  sinner 
as  he,  though  she  did  harm  to  none  but  herself. 
And  'tis  for  those  two — for  both — I  would  have 
mercy.  But  I  am  a  strong  thing,  and  was  born 
so,  and  my  happiness  will  not  die,  despite — despite 
whatsoever  comes.  And  I  am  happy,  and  know 
I  shall  be  more  ;  and  'tis  for  that  I  am  afraid — 
afraid." 

"  Good  Lord  ! "  cried  Sir  Chris,  swallowing  a 
lump  which  rose,  he  knew  not  why,  in  his  throat. 
"  What  a  strange  creature  thou  art !  " 

His  Grace's  couriers  went  back  and  forth  to 
France,  and  upon  his  estates  the  people  prepared 
their  rejoicings  for  the  marriage-day,  and  never 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      403 

had  Camylott  been  so  heavenly  fair  as  on  the  day 
when  the  bells  rang  out  once  more,  and  the  villag 
ers  stood  along  the  roadside  and  at  their  cottage 
doors,  courtesying  and  throwing  up  hats  and  call 
ing  down  God's  blessings  on  the  new-wed  pair,  as 
the  coach  passed  by,  and  his  Grace,  holding  his 
lady's  hand,  showed  her  to  his  people,  seeming  to 
give  her  and  her  loveliness  to  them  as  they  bowed 
and  smiled  together — she  almost  with  joyful  tears 
in  her  sweet  eyes. 

In  her  room  near  the  nurseries,  at  the  window 
which  looked  out  among  the  ivy,  Nurse  Halsell 
sat,  watching  the  equipage  as  it  made  its  way 
up  the  long  avenue,  and  might  be  seen  now  and 
then  between  the  trees,  and  her  old  hands  trembled 
in  her  lap,  for  very  joy.  And  before  the  day  was 
done  his  Grace,  knocking  on  the  door  gently, 
brought  his  Duchess  to  her. 

"  And  'twas  you,"  said  her  Grace,  standing 
close  by  her  chair,  and  holding  the  old  hand  be 
tween  her  own  two,  which  were  so  white  and  velvet 
warm,  "  and  'twas  you  who  held  him  in  your  arms 
when  he  was  but  a  little  new-born  thing,  and  often 
sang  him  to  sleep,  and  were  so  loved  by  him.  And 
he  played  here — "  and  she  looked  about  the  apart 
ment  with  a  tremulous  smile. 

"  Yes,"  said  his  Grace,  with  a  low  laugh  of  joy 
ful  love,  "  and  now  I  bring  you  to  her,  and  'tis  my 
marriage-day." 


404      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

Nurse  Halsell  gazed  up  at  the  eyes  which 
glowed  above  her. 

"  Tis  what  his  Grace  hath  waited  long  for,"  she 
said,  "  and  he  would  have  died  an  unwedded  man 
had  he  not  reached  it  at  last.  Tis  sure  what  God 
ordained."  And  for  a  minute  she  looked  straight 
and  steady  into  the  Duchess's  face.  "  A  man  must 
come  to  his  own,"  she  said,  and  bent  and  kissed  the 
fair  hand  with  passionate  love,  but  her  Grace  lifted 
the  old  face  with  her  palm,  and  stooped  and  kissed 
it  fondly — gratefully. 

Then  the  Duke  took  his  wife  to  the  Long  Gal 
lery  and  they  stood  there,  he  holding  her  close 
against  his  side,  while  the  golden  sun  went 
down. 

"  Here  I  stood  and  heard  that  you  were  born," 
he  said,  and  kissed  her  red,  tender  mouth.  "  Here 
I  stood  in  agony  and  fought  my  battle  with  my 
soul  the  first  sad  day  you  came  to  Camylott." 
And  he  kissed  her  slow  and  tenderly  again,  in 
memory  of  the  grief  of  that  past  time.  "  And  here 
I  stand  and  feel  your  dear  heart  beat  against  my 
side,  and  look  into  your  eyes — and  look  into  your 
eyes — and  they  are  the  eyes  of  her  who  is  mine 
own — and  Death  himself  cannot  take  her  from 
me." 


CHAPTER  XXIX 
At  the  Cow  at  Wickben 

THE  happiness  he  had  dreamed  of  was  given 
to  him  ;  nay,  he  knew  joy  and  tenderness  even 
more  high  and  sweet  than  his  fancy  had  painted. 
As  Camylott  had  been  in  his  childhood  so  he  saw 
it  again — the  most  beauteous  home  in  England 
and  the  happiest,  its  mistress  the  fairest  wom 
an  and  the  most  nobly  loving.  As  his  own  fa 
ther  and  mother  had  found  life  a  joyful  thing 
and  their  world  full  of  warm  hearts  and  faithful 
friends,  so  he  and  she  he  loved,  found  it  together. 
The  great  house  was  filled  once  more  with  guests 
and  pleasures  as  in  the  olden  time,  the  stately 
apartments  were  thrown  open  for  entertainment, 
gay  cavalcades  came  and  went  from  town,  the 
forests  were  hunted,  the  moors  shot  over  by 
sportsmen,  and  the  lady  who  was  hostess  and 
chatelaine  won  renown  as  well  as  hearts,  since 
each  party  of  guests  she  entertained  went  back 
to  the  homes  they  came  from,  proclaiming  to  all 
her  wit  and  gracious  charm. 

She  rode  to  hunt  and  leapt  hedges  as  she  had 
done  when  she  had  been  Clo  Wildairs ;  she 
walked  the  moors  with  the  sportsmen,  her  gun 

405 


406  .    HIS   GRACE   OF  OSMONDE 

over  her  shoulder,  she  sparkling  and  showing  her 
white  teeth  like  a  laughing  gipsy  ;  and  when  she 
so  walked,  the  black  rings  in  her  hair  blown  loose 
about  her  brow,  her  cheeks  kissed  fresh  crimson 
by  the  wet  wind,  and  turned  her  eyes  upon  my 
lord  Duke  near  her  and  their  looks  met,  the  man 
who  beheld  saw  lovers  who  set  his  own  heart 
beating. 

"  But  is  it  true,"  asked  once  the  great  French 
lady  who  had  related  the  history  of  the  breaking 
of  the  horse,  Devil,  "  is  it  true  that  a  poor  man 
killed  himself  in  despair  on  her  last  marriage,  and 
that  she  lives  a  secret  life  of  penance  to  atone — 
and  wears  a  hair  shirt,  and  peas  in  her  beautiful 
satin  shoes,  and  does  deeds  of  mercy  in  the  dark 
places  of  the  big  black  English  city  ?" 

"A  man,  mad  with  jealous  rage  of  her,  disap 
peared  from  sight,"  said  an  English  lady  present. 
"  And  he  might  well  have  drowned  himself  from 
disappointment  that  she  would  not  wed  him  and 
pay  his  debts  ;  but  'twas  more  like  he  fled  England 
to  escape  his  creditors.  And  'tis  true  she  does 
many  noble  deeds  in  secret;  but  if  they  be  done  in 
penance  for  Sir  John  Oxon,  she  is  a  lady  with  a 
conscience  that  is  tender  indeed." 

That  her  conscience  was  a  strangely  tender 
thing  was  a  thought  which  moved  one  man's 
heart  strongly  many  a  time.  Scarce  a  day  passed 
kuwhich  her  husband  did  not  mark  some  evi- 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      407 

dence  of  this — hear  some  word  spoken,  see  some 
deed  done,  almost,  it  seemed,  as  if  in  atonement 
for  imagined  faults  hid  in  her  heart.  He  did  not 
remark  this  because  he  was  unused  to  womanly 
mercifulness.  His  own  mother's  life  had  been 
full  of  gentle  kindness  to  all  about  her,  of  acts  of 
charity  and  goodness,  but  in  the  good  deeds  of 
this  woman,  whom  he  so  loved,  he  observed  an 
eagerness  which  was  almost  a  passion.  She  had 
changed  no  whit  in  the  brilliance  of  her  spirit ;  in 
the  world  she  reigned  a  queen  as  she  had  ever 
done ;  wheresoever  she  moved,  life  and  gayety 
seemed  to  follow,  whether  it  was  at  the  Court,  in 
the  town,  or  the  country ;  but  in  both  town  and 
country  he  found  she  did  strange  charities,  and 
seemed  to  search  for  creatures  she  might  aid  in 
such  places  as  other  women  had  not  courage  to 
dive  into. 

This  he  discovered  through  encountering  her 
one  day  as  she  re-entered  Osmonde  House,  re 
turning  from  some  such  errand,  clad  in  dark, 
plain  garments,  her  black  hood  drawn  over  her 
face,  being  thereby  so  disguised  that  but  for  her 
height  and  bearing  he  should  not  have  recog 
nised  her — indeed,  he  thought,  she  had  not  seen 
and  would  have  passed  him  in  silence. 

He  put  forth  his  hand  and  stayed  her,  smiling. 

"  Your  Grace  !  "  he  said,  "  or  some  vision  !  " 

She  threw  the  black  hood  back  and   her  fair 


408      HIS   GRACE   OF  OSMONDE 

face  and  large  black  eyes  shone  out  from  beneath 
its  shadows.  She  drew  his  hand  up  and  kissed  it, 
and  held  it  against  her  cheek  in  a  dear  way  which 
was  among  the  sweetest  of  her  wifely  caresses. 

"  It  is  like  Heaven,  Gerald,"  she  said,  "  to  see 
your  face,  after  beholding  such  miseries." 

And  when  he  took  her  in  his  arm  and  led  her  to 
the  room  in  which  they  loved  best  to  sit  in  con 
verse  together,  she  told  him  of  a  poor  creature 
she  had  been  to  visit,  and  when  she  named  the 
place  where  she  had  found  her,  'twas  a  haunt  so 
dark  and  wicked  that  he  started  in  alarm  and 
wonder  at  her. 

"  Nay,  dear  one,"  he  said,  "  such  dens  are  not 
for  you  to  visit.  You  must  not  go  to  them  again." 

She  was  sitting  on  a  low  seat  before  him,  and 
she  leaned  forward,  the  black  hood  falling  back, 
framing  her  face  and  making  it  look  white. 

"  None  else  dare  go,"  she  said  ;  "  none  else  dare 
go,  Gerald.  Such  places  are  so  hideous  and  so  noi 
some,  and  yet  there  are  those  who  are  born  and 
die  there,  bound  hand  and  foot  when  they  are 
born,  that  they  may  be  bound  hand  and  foot  to 
die  !  "  She  rose  as  if  she  did  not  know  she  moved, 
and  stood  up  before  him,  her  hand  upon  her 
breast. 

"  'Tis  such  as  I  should  go,"  she  said,  "  I  who  am 
happy  and  beloved — after  all — after  all !  'Tis  such 
as  I  who  should  go,  and  carry  love  and  pity — love 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      409 

and  pity ! "  And  she  seemed  Love's  self  and 
Pity's  self,  and  stood  transfigured. 

"  You  are  a  saint,"  he  cried ;  "  and  yet  I  am 
afraid.  Ah  !  how  could  any  harm  you?" 

"  I  am  so  great  and  strong,"  she  said,  in  a  still 
voice,  "  none  could  harm  me  if  they  would.  I  am 
not  as  other  women.  And  I  do  not  know  fear. 
See ! "  and  she  held  out  her  arm.  "  I  am  a 
Wildairs — built  of  iron  and  steel.  If  in  a  struggle 
I  held  aught  in  my  hand  and  struck  at  a  man — " 
her  arm  fell  at  her  side  suddenly  as  if  some  horrid 
thought  had  swept  across  her  soul,  like  a  blighting 
blast.  She  turned  white  and  sank  upon  her  low 
seat,  covering  her  face  with  her  hands.  Then  she 
looked  up  with  awed  eyes.  "  If  one  who  was  so 
strong,"  she  said,  "  should  strike  at  a  man  in  anger, 
he  might  strike  him  dead — unknowing — dead  !  " 

"  Tis  not  a  thing  to  think  of,"  said  his  Grace, 
and  shuddered  a  little. 

"  But  he  would  think  of  it,"  she  said,  "  all  his 
life  through  and  bear  it  on  his  soul."  And  she 
shuddered,  too,  and  in  her  eyes  was  the  old 
look  which  sometimes  haunted  them.  Surely,  he 
thought,  Nature  had  never  before  made  a  wom 
an's  eyes  so  to  answer  to  her  lover's  and  her 
lord's.  They  were  so  warm  and  full  of  all  a  man's 
soul  most  craved  for.  He  had  seen  them  flash  fire 
like  Juno's,  he  had  seen  tears  well  up  into  them  as 
if  she  had  been  a  tender  girl,  he  had  seen  them 


410      HIS  GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

laugh  like  a  child's,  he  had  seen  them  brood  over 
him  as  a  young  dove's  might  brood  over  her  mate, 
but  this  look  was  unlike  any  other,  and  was  as  if 
she  thought  on.  some  dark  thing  in  another  world 
— so  far  away  that  her  mind's  vision  could  scarce 
reach  it,  and  yet  could  not  refrain  from  turning 
towards  its  shadow. 

But  this  was  but  a  cloud  which  his  love-words 
and  nearness  could  dispel.  This  she  herself  told 
him  on  a  time  when  he  spoke  to  her  of  it. 

"  When  you  see  it,"  she  said,  "  come  and  tell  me 
that  you  love  me,  and  that  there  is  naught  can 
come  between  our  souls.  As  you  said  the  day 
you  showed  me  the  dear  rose,  '  Naught  can  come 
between' — and  love  is  more  than  all." 

"  But  that  you  know,"  he  answered. 

Life  is  so  full  of  joys  for  those  who  love  and, 
being  mated,  are  given  by  their  good  fortunes 
the  power  to  live  as  their  hearts  lead  them. 
These  two  were  given  all  things,  it  seemed  to  the 
world  which  looked  on.  From  one  of  their  es 
tates  to  the  other  they  went  with  the  changing 
seasons,  and  with  them  carried  happiness  and 
peace.  Her  Grace,  of  whom  the  villagers  had 
heard  such  tales  as  made  them  feel  that  they 
should  tremble  before  the  proud  glance  of  her 
dark  eyes,  found  that  their  last  Duchess,  whose 
eyes  had  been  like  violets,  could  smile  no  more 
sweetly.  This  one  was  somehow  the  more  ma- 


HIS   GRACE  OF   OSMONDE      411 

jestic  lady  of  the  two,  being  taller  and  having  a 
higher  bearing  by  Nature,  but  none  among  them 
had  ever  beheld  one  who  was  more  a  woman  and 
seemed  so  well  to  understand  a  woman's  heart 
and  ways.  Where  had  she  learned  it,  they  won 
dered  among  themselves,  as  others  had  wondered 
the  year  when,  as  my  Lady  Dunstanwolde,  she 
had  been  guest  at  Camylott,  and  in  the  gipsy's 
encampment  had  carried,  so  soft  and  tenderly, 
the  little  gipsy  child  in  her  arms.  Where  had 
she  learned  it? 

"  Gerald,"  she  said  once  to  her  husband,  and 
pressed  her  hand  against  her  heart, "  'twas  always 
here — here,  lying  hid,  when  none  knew  it — when 
I  did  not  know  it  myself.  When  I  seemed  but  a 
hard,  wild  creature,  having  only  men  for  friends 
— I  was  a  woman  then,  and  used  sometimes  to  sit 
and  stare  at  the  red  coals  of  the  fire,  or  the  red 
sun  going  down  on  the  moors,  and  feel  longings 
and  pities  and  sadness  I  knew  not  the  meaning  of. 
And  often,  suddenly,  I  was  made  angry  by  them 
and  would  spring  up  and  walk  away  that  I  might 
be  troubled  no  more.  But  'twas  Nature  crying 
out  in  me  that  I  was  a  woman  and  could  be 
naught  else." 

Her  love  and  tenderness  for  her  sister,  Mistress 
Anne,  increased,  it  seemed,  hour  by  hour. 

"  At  Camylott,  at  Marlowell,  at  Roxholm,  at 
Paulyn,  and  at  Mertoun,"  she  had  said  when  she 


412      HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

was  married,  "  we  must  have  an  apartment  which 
is  Anne's.  She  is  my  saint  and  I  must  keep  a 
niche  for  her  in  every  house  and  set  her  in  it  to 
be  worshipped*" 

And  so  it  was,  to  whichsoever  of  their  homes 
they  went,  Mistress  Anne  went  with  them  and 
found  always  her  own  nest  warm  to  receive 
her. 

"  It  makes  me  feel  audacious,  sister,"  she  used 
to  say  at  first,  "  to  go  from  one  grand  house  to 
the  other  and  be  led  to  Mistress  Anne's  apart 
ments,  in  each,  and  they  always  prepared  and 
waiting  as  if  'twere  I  who  were  a  Duchess." 

"  You  are  Anne  !  You  are  Anne  ! "  said  her 
Grace,  and  kissed  her  fondly. 

Sometimes  she  was  like  a  gay  and  laughing 
girl,  and  set  all  the  place  alight  with  her  witch 
eries  ;  she  invented  entertainments  for  their 
guests,  games  and  revels  for  the  villagers,  and 
was  the  spirit  of  all.  In  one  of  their  retrospec 
tive  hours,  Osmonde  had  told  her  of  the  thoughts 
he  had  dreamed  on,  as  they  had  ridden  home 
ward  from  the  encampment  of  the  gipsies — of 
his  fancies  of  the  comrade  she  would  make  for  a 
man  who  lived  a  roving  life.  She  had  both 
laughed  and  wept  over  the  story,  clinging  to  his 
breast  as  she  had  told  her  own,  and  of  her  fear  of 
his  mere  glance  at  her  in  those  dark  days,  and 
that  she  had  not  dared  to  sit  alone  but  kept  near 


HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE      413 

her  lord's  side  lest  she  should  ponder  and  re 
member  what  'twas  honest  she  should  forget. 

But  afterwards  she  planned,  for  their  fanciful 
pleasure,  rambling  long  jaunts  when  they  rode  or 
walked  unattended,  and  romanced  like  children, 
eating  their  simple  food  under  broad  greenwood 
trees  or  on  the  wide  moors  with  a  whole  world 
of  heather,  as  it  seemed,  rolled  out  before  them. 

On  such  a  journey,  setting  out  from  London 
one  bright  morning,  they  rode  through  Essex  and 
stopped  by  chance  at  a  little  village  inn.  'Twas 
the  village  of  Wickben,  and  on  the  signboard 
which  hung  swinging  on  a  post  before  the  small 
thatched  house  of  entertainment  was  painted  a 
brown  cow. 

None  knew  'twas  a  Duke  and  his  Duchess  who 
dismounted  and  entered  the  place.  They  had 
made  sure  that  by  their  attire  none  could  suspect 
them  of  being  more  than  ordinary  travellers, 
modest  enough  to  patronise  a  humble  place. 

"  But  Lord,  what  a  fine  pair  !  "  said  the  old  fel 
low  who  was  the  landlord.  "  Adam  and  Eve 
may  have  been  such  when  God  first  made  man 
and  woman,  and  had  stuff  in  plenty  to  build 
them." 

He  was  an  aged  man  and  talkative,  and  being 
eager  for  a  chance  to  wag  his  tongue  and  hear 
travellers'  adventures,  attended  them  closely. 
He  gave  them  their  simple  repast  himself  in  a 


414      HIS  GRACE   OF  OSMONDE 

small  room,  and  as  he  moved  to  and  fro  fell  to 
gossiping,  emboldened  by  their  friendly  gayety  of 
speech  and  by  her  Grace's  smiling  eyes. 

"  Your  ladyship,"  he  began  at  first,  in  some 
what  awkward,  involuntary  homage. 

"  Nay,  gaffer,  I  am  no  ladyship/'  she  answered, 
with  Clo  Wildairs's  unceremonious  air.  "  I  am 
but  a  gipsy  woman  in  good  luck  for  a  day,  and 
my  man  is  a  gipsy,  too,  though  his  skin  is  fairer 
than  mine.  We  are  going  to  join  our  camp  near 
Camylott  village.  These  horses  are  not  ours  but 
borrowed — honestly.  Is't  not  so,  John  Merton?" 
And  she  so  laughed  at  his  Grace  with  her  big, 
saucy  eyes,  that  he  wished  he  had  been  indeed  a 
gipsy  man  and  could  have  kissed  her  openly. 

"  Art  the  Gipsies'  queen?"  asked  the  old  man, 
bewitched  by  her. 

"Not  she,"  answered  his  Grace,  "but  a  plain 
gipsy  wench  who  makes  baskets  and  tells  fortunes 
— for  all  her  good  looks.  Thou'rt  flattering  her, 
old  fellow.  All  the  men  flatter  her." 

"  'Tis  well  there  are  some  to  flatter  me,"  said 
her  Grace,  showing  her  white  teeth.  "  Thou  dost 
not.  But  'tis  always  so  when  a  poor  woman  weds 
a  man  and  tramps  by  the  side  of  him  instead  of 
keeping  him  at  her  feet." 

And  then  they  led  their  old  host  on  to  talk,  and 
told  him  stories  of  what  gipsies  did,  and  of  their 
living  in  tents  and  sleeping  in  the  open,  and  of 


HIS   GRACE  OF   OSMONDE      415 

the  ill-luck  which  sometimes  befel  them  when  the 
lord  of  the  manor  they  camped  on  was  a  hard  man 
and  evil  tempered. 

"  Tis  a  Duke  who  rules  over  Camylott,  is't 
not  ?  "  the  old  fellow  asked. 

"  Ay,"  was  her  Grace's  answer,  nodding-  her 
head.  "  He  is  well  enough,  but  his  lady — Lord  ! 
but  they  tell  that  she  was  a  vixen  before  her  mar 
riage  a  few  years  gone  !  " 

"  I  have  seen  her,"  said  his  Grace.  "  She  is  not 
ill  to  look  at,  and  has  done  us  no  harm  yet." 

"Ay,  but  she  may,"  says  her  Grace,  nodding 
wisely  again.  "  Who  knows  what  such  a  woman 
may  turn  out.  I  have  seen  him  !  "  She  stopped, 
her  elbows  on  the  little  round  wooden  table,  her 
chin  on  her  hands,  and  gave  her  saucy  stare  again. 
"  I'll  pay  thee  a  compliment,"  she  said.  "  He  is  a 
big  fellow,  and  not  unlike  thee — though  he  be 
Duke  and  thou  naught  but  a  vagabond  gipsy." 

Their  host  had  hearkened  to  them  eagerly,  and 
now  he  put  in  a  question.  "  Was  not  she  the 
beauty  that  was  married  to  an  old  Earl  who  left 
her  widow  ?  "  he  said.  "  Was  not  she  Countess 
Dunstanwolde?" 

"  Ay,"  answered  her  Grace,  quietly. 

"  Ecod  !  "  cried  the  old  fellow,  "  that  minds  me 
of  a  story,  and  'twas  a  thing  happened  in  this  very 
house  and  room.  Look  there  ! " 

He  pointed  with  something  like  excitement  to 


416      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

the  window.  'Twas  but  seldom  he  had  chance  to 
tell  his  story,  and  'twas  a  thing  he  dearly  loved  to 
do,  life  being  but  a  dull  thing  at  the  Cow  at  Wick- 
ben,  and  few  travellers  passing  that  way.  A  pair 
so  friendly  and  gay  and  ready  to  hearken  to  his 
chatter  as  these  two  he  had  not  seen  for  years. 

"Look  there  !  "  he  said.  "  At  that  big  hole  in 
the  wall." 

They  turned  together  and  looked  at  it  in  some 
wonder  that  her  ladyship  of  Dunstanwolde  should 
have  any  connection  with  it.  'Twas  indeed  a  big 
hole,  and  looked  as  if  the  plaster  of  the  wall  under 
the  sill  had  been  roughly  broken  and  hacked. 

"  Ay,"  said  the  host,  "  'tis  a  queer  thing  and 
came  here  in  a  strange  way,  being  made  by  a  gen 
tleman's  sword,  and  he  either  wild  with  liquor  or 
with  rage.  Never  shall  I  forget  hearing  his  horse's 
hoofs  come  tearing  over  the  road,  as  if  some  man 
was  riding  for  his  life.  I  was  abed,  and  started 
out  of  my  sleep  at  the  sound  of  it.  '  Who's  chased 
by  the  devil  at  this  time  o'  night  through  Wick- 
ben  village  ?  r  says  I,  and  scarce  were  the  words 
out  of  my  mouth  before  the  horse  clatters  up  to 
the  house  and  stops.  I  could  hear  him  panting 
and  heaving  as  his  rider  gets  off  and  strides  up  to 
bang  on  the  door.  '  What  dost  thou  want  ?  '  says 
I,  putting  my  head  out  of  the  window.  'Come 
down  and  let  me  in,'  answers  he ;  '  I  have  no  time 
to  spare.  You  have  a  thing  in  your  house  I  would 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      417 

find.'  'Twas  a  gentleman's  voice,  and  I  saw 'twas 
a  gentleman's  dress  he  wore,  for  'twas  fine  cloth, 
and  his  sword  had  a  silvered  scabbard,  and  his 
hat  rich  plumes.  *  Come  down,'  says  he,  and 
bangs  the  door  again,  so  down  I  went." 

"  Who  was  he  ?  "  asked  her  Grace  slowly,  for  he 
had  stopped  for  breath.  She  sat  quite  still  as  be 
fore,  her  round  chin  held  in  her  hands,  her  eyes 
fixed  on  him,  but  there  was  no  longer  any  laugh 
ter  in  their  blackness.  "  Did  he  tell  his  name  ?  " 

"  Not  then,"  was  the  answer;  "  nor  did  he  know 
I  heard  when  he  spoke  it,  breaking  forth  in  anger. 
But  that  is  to  come  later" — with  the  air  of  one 
who  would  have  his  tale  heard  to  the  most  dra 
matic  advantage.  "  Into  this  room  he  strides  and 
to  the  window  straight  and  looks  below  the  sill. 
'  Four  years  ago,'  says  he,  *  there  was  a  hole  here 
in  the  wall.  Was't  so  or  was't  not  ?  '  and  he  looks 
at  me  sharp  and  fierce  as  if  he  would  take  me  by 
the  throat  if  I  said  there  had  been  none.  '  Ay, 
there  was  a  hole  there  long  enough,'  I  answers 
him,  '  but  'twas  mended  with  new  plaster  at  last. 
Your  lordship  can  see  the  patch,  for  'twas  but 
roughly  done.'  Then  he  goes  close  to  it  and 
stares.  '  Ay,'  says  he,  '  there  has  been  a  hole 
mended.  Old  Chris  did  not  lie.'  And  on  that  he 
turns  to  me.  *  Get  out  of  the  room,'  he  says.  '  I 
have  a  search  to  make  here.  Your  wall  will 
want  another  patch  when  I  am  done/  he  says. 
27 


41 8      HIS  GRACE   OF   OSMONDS 

'  But  'twill  be  made  good.  Go  thy  ways/  And 
he  draws  out  his  hanger,  and  there  was  sweat  on 
his  brow  and  he  breathed  fast,  as  if  he  was  wild 
with  his  anxiousness  to  find  what  he  sought." 

"And  didst  leave  him?"  asked  her  Grace,  as 
quiet  as  before.  "  For  how  long?" 

The  old  man  grinned. 

"  Not  for  long,"  said  he,  "  nor  did  I  go  far.  I 
stood  outside,  where  I  could  see  through  the 
crack  o'  the  door." 

The  Duchess  nodded  with  an  unmoved  face. 

"  He  was  like  a  man  in  a  frenzy,"  the  host  went 
on.  "  He  dug  at  the  plaster  till  I  thought  his 
sword  would  break ;  he  dug  as  if  he  were  paid  for 
it  by  the  minute.  He  made  a  hole  bigger  than 
had  been  there  before,  and  when  'twas  made  he 
thrusts  his  hand  in  and  fumbles  about,  cursing 
under  his  breath.  And  of  a  sudden  he  gives  a 
start  and  stops  and  pants  for  breath,  and  then 
draws  his  hand  back,  and  it  was  bloody,  being 
scratched  by  the  stone  and  plaster,  but  he  held 
somewhat  in  it,  a  little  dusty  package,  and  he 
clutches  it  to  his  breast  and  laughs  outright.  Good 
Lord,  'twas  like  a  devil's  laugh,  'twas  so  wild  and 
joyful.  '  Ha,  ha  ! '  cries  he,  shaking  the  thing  in 
the  air  and  stamping  his  foot,  '  Jack  Oxon  comes 
to  his  own  again,  to  his  own ! ' ' 

"  Then,"  says  her  Grace,  more  slowly  still, 
"  that  was  his  name  ?  I  have  heard  it  before." 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      419 

"  I  heard  it  again,"  said  the  old  story-teller,  eager 
to  reach  his  climax.  "  And  'tis  that  ends  the  story 
so  finely.  'Twas  by  chance  talk  of  travellers  I 
heard  it  nigh  six  months  later.  The  very  day  after 
he  stood  here  and  searched  for  his  package  he  dis 
appeared  from  sight  and  has  not  been  heard  of 
since.  And  the  last  who  set  eyes  on  him  was  my 
Lady  Dunstanwolde,  who  is  now  a  Duchess  at 
Camylott,  where  your  camp  is.  'Twas  her  name 
brought  the  story  back  to  me." 

Her  Grace  rose,  catching  her  breath  with  a 
laugh.  She  turned  her  face  towards  the  window, 
as  if,  of  a  sudden,  attracted  by  somewhat  to  be 
seen  outside. 

"  'Tis  a  good  story,"  she  said,  but  for  a  moment 
the  crimson  roses  on  her  cheeks  had  shuddered  to 
whiteness.  Why,  no  man  could  tell.  Her  host 
did  not  see  her  countenance — perhaps  my  lord 
Duke  did  not. 

"  'Tis  a  good  story  ! "  she  laughed  again. 

"  And  well  told,"  added  my  lord  Duke. 

Her  Grace  turned  to  them  both  once  more. 
Through  some  wondrous  exercise  of  her  will  she 
looked  herself  again. 

"  As  we  are  in  luck  to-day,"  she  said,  "  and  it 
has  passed  the  time,  let  us  count  it  in  the  reckon 
ing." 

A  new,  almost  wild,  fantastic  gayety  seized  her. 
She  flung  herself  into  her  playing  of  the  part  of  a 


420      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDfi 

gipsy  woman  with  a  spirit  which  was  a  marvel  to 
behold.  She  searched  his  Grace's  pockets  and  her 
own  for  pence,  and  counted  up  the  reckoning  on 
the  table,  saying  that  they  could  but  afford  this  or 
that  much,  that  they  must  save  this  coin  for  a 
meal,  that  for  a  bed,  this  to  pay  toll  on  the  road. 
She  used  such  phrases  of  the  gipsy  jargon  as  she 
had  picked  up,  and  made  jokes  and  bantering 
speeches  which  set  their  host  cackling  with  laugh 
ter.  Osmonde  had  seen  her  play  a  fantastic  part 
before  on  their  whimsical  holidays,  but  never  one 
which  suited  her  so  well,  and  in  which  she  seemed 
so  full  of  fire  and  daring  wit.  She  was  no  Duchess, 
a  man  might  have  sworn,  but  a  tall,  splendid,  black- 
eyed  laughing  gipsy  woman,  who,  to  the  man  who 
was  her  partner,  would  be  a  fortune  every  day,  and 
a  fortune  not  of  luck  alone,  but  of  gay  spirit  and 
bravery  and  light-hearted  love. 

That  night  the  moon  shone  white  and  clear,  and 
in  the  mid  hours  my  lord  Duke  waked  from  his 
sleep  suddenly,  and  saw  the  brightness  stream 
ing  full  through  the  oriel  window,  and  in  the  fair 
flood  of  it  his  love's  white  figure  kneeling. 

"  Gerald,"  she  cried,  clinging  to  him  when  he 
went  to  her.  "  'Twas  I  awaked  you.  I  called, 
though  I  did  not  speak." 

"  I  heard,  as  I  should  hear  if  I  lay  dead,"  he  an 
swered  low. 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      421 

Her  hair  was  all  unbound  for  the  night — her 
black,  wondrous  hair  which  he  so  loved — and  from 
its  billowy  cloud  her  face  looked  at  him  wild  and 
white,  her  mouth  quivering. 

"  Gerald,"  she  said,  "  look  out  with  me." 

Together  they  looked  forth  from  the  wide  win 
dow  into  the  beauty  of  the  night,  up  into  the  great 
vault  of  Heaven,  where  the  large  silver  moon 
sailed  in  the  blue,  the  stars  shining  faintly  before 
her  soft  brilliance. 

"  We  are  Pagans,"  she  said,  "  poor  Pagans  who 
oftenest  seem  to  pray  to  a  cruel  thing  we  do  not 
know  but  only  crouch  before  in  terror,  lest  it  crush 
us.  But  when  we  look  up  into  such  a  Heaven  as 
this,  its  majesty  and  stillness  seem  a  presence,  and 
we  dare  to  utter  what  our  hearts  cry  out,  and 
know  we  shall  be  heard."  She  caught  his  hand 
and  held  it  to  her  heart,  which  he  felt  leap  beneath 
it.  "  There  is  no  power  would  harm  a  woman's 
child,"  she  cried — "  a  little  unborn  thing  which 
has  not  breathed — because  it  would  wreak  ven 
geance  on  herself !  There  is  none,  Gerald,  is 
there?"  And  she  clung  to  him,  her  uplifted  face 
filled  with  such  lovely,  passionate,  woman's  fear 
and  pleading  as  made  him  sweep  her  to  his  breast 
and  hold  her  silently — because  he  could  not  speak. 

"  For  I  have  learned  to  be  afraid,"  she  murmured 
brokenly,  against  his  breast.  "  And  I  was  kneel 
ing  here  to  pray — to  pray  with  all  my  soul — that 


422       HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

if  there  were  so  cruel  a  thing  'twould  kill  me  now 
— blight  me — take  me  from  you — that  I  might  die 
in  torture — but  not  bring  suffering  on  my  love, 
and  on  an  innocent  thing." 

And  her  heart  beat  like  some  terrified  caged 
eaglet  against  his  own,  and  her  eyes  were  wild 
with  woe.  But  the  wondrous  stillness  of  the  deep 
night  enfolded  them,  as  if  Nature  held  them  in 
her  great  arms  which  comfort  so.  And  her  stars 
gazed  calmly  down,  even  as  though  their  calmness 
were  answering  speech. 


CHAPTER  XXX 
On  Tyburn  Hill 

THERE  was  none  knew  her  as  her  husband  did 
— none  in  the  world — though  so  many  were  her 
friends  and  worshippers.  As  he  loved  her  he  knew 
her,  the  passion  of  his  noble  heart  giving  him 
clearer  and  more  watchful  eyes  than  any  other. 
Truth  was,  indeed,  that  she  herself  did  not  know 
how  much  he  saw  and  pondered  on  and  how  ten 
der  his  watch  upon  her  was. 

The  dark  shadow  in  her  eyes  he  had  first  noted, 
the  look  which  would  pass  over  her  face  some 
times  at  a  moment  when  'twas  brightest,  when  it 
glowed  with  tenderest  love  for  himself  or  with 
deepest  yearning  over  the  children  who  were 
given  to  them  as  time  passed,  for  there  were  born 
to  fill  their  home  four  sons  who  were  like  young 
gods  for  strength  and  beauty,  and  two  daughters 
as  fair  things  as  Nature  ever  made  to  promise  per 
fect  womanhood. 

And  how  she  loved  and  tended  them,  and  how 
they  joyed  in  their  young  lives  and  worshipped 
and  revered  her ! 

"  When  I  was  a  child,  Gerald, "she  said  to  their 
father,  "  I  was  unhappy — and  'tis  a  hideous  thing 

423 


424       HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

that  a  child  should  be  so.  I  loved  none  and  none 
loved  me,  and  though  all  feared  my  rage  and  gave 
me  my  will,  I  was  restless  and  savage  and  a  rebel, 
though  I  knew  not  why.  There  were  hours — I 
did  not  know  their  meaning,  and  hated  them— 
when  I  was  seized  with  fits  of  horrid  loneliness 
and  would  hide  myself  in  the  woods,  and  roll  in 
the  dead  leaves,  and  curse  myself  and  all  things 
because  I  was  wretched.  I  used  to  think  that  I 
was  angered  at  my  dogs,  or  my  horse,  or  some 
servant,  or  my  father,  and  would  pour  forth  oaths 
at  them — but  'twas  not  they.  Our  children  must 
be  happy — they  must  be  happy,  Gerald.  I  will 
have  them  happy  !  " 

What  a  mother  they  had  in  her  ! — a  creature 
who  could  be  wild  with  play  and  laughter  with 
them,  who  was  so  beauteous  that  even  in  mere 
babyhood  they  would  sit  upon  her  knee  and  stare 
at  her  for  sheer  infant  pleasure  in  her  rich  bloom 
and  great,  sweet  eyes  ;  who  could  lift  and  toss  and 
rock  them  in  her  strong,  soft  arms  as  if  they  were 
but  flowers  and  she  a  summer  wind  ;  whose  voice 
was  music,  and  whose  black  hair  was  a  great  soft 
mantle  'twas  their  childish  delight  to  coax  her  to 
loosen  that  it  might  flow  about  her,  billowing,  she 
standing  laughing  beneath  and  tossing  it  over 
them  to  hide  their  smallness  under  it  as  beneath 
a  veil.  She  was  their  heroine  and  their  young 
pride,  and  among  themselves  they  made  joyful  lit- 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      425 

tie  boasts  that  there  was  no  other  such  lady  in  all 
England.  To  behold  her  mount  her  tall  horse  and 
gallop  and  leap  hedges  and  gates,  to  hear  her  tell 
stories  of  the  moorlands  and  woods,  and  the  game 
hiding  in  nests  and  warrens,  of  the  ways  of  dogs 
and  hawks  and  horses,  and  soldiers  and  Kings  and 
Queens,  and  of  how  their  father  had  fought  in  bat 
tles,  and  of  how  big  the  world  was  and  how  full 
of  wonders  and  of  joys !  What  other  children  had 
such  pleasures  in  their  lives  ? 

But  a  few  months  after  their  Graces'  visit  to 
the  Cow  at  Wickben,  young  John,  who  was  heir 
and  Marquess  of  Roxholm,  had  been  born  ;  follow 
ing  each  other  his  two  brothers,  and  later  the 
child  Daphne  and  her  sister  Anne ;  last,  the  little 
Lord  Cuthbert,  who  was  told  as  he  grew  older 
that  he  was  to  be  the  hero  of  his  house  in  memory 
of  Cuthbert  de  Mertoun,  who  had  lived  centuries 
ago ;  and  in  the  five  villages  'twas  sworn  that 
each  son  her  Grace  bore  her  husband  was  a  finer 
creature  than  the  last,  and  that  her  girl  children 
outbloomed  their  brothers  all. 

Among  these  young  human  flowers  Mistress 
Anne  reigned  gentle  queen  and  saint,  but  softly 
faded  day  by  day,  having  been  a  fragile  creature 
all  her  life,  but  growing  more  so  as  time  passed, 
despite  the  peace  she  lived  in  and  the  happiness 
surrounding  her. 

In   her  eyes,  too,  his  Grace  had  seen   a  look 


426      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

which  held  its  mystery.  They  were  such  soft 
eyes  and  so  kind  and  timid  he  had  always  loved 
them.  In  days  gone  by  he  had  often  observed 
them  as  they  followed  her  sister,  and  had  been 
touched  by  the  faithful  tenderness  of  their  look; 
but  after  her  marriage  they  seemed  to  follow  her 
more  tenderly  still,  and  sometimes  with  a  vague, 
piteous  wonder,  as  if  the  fond  creature  asked  her 
self  in  secret  a  question  she  knew  not  how  to  an 
swer.  More  and  more  devout  she  had  grown, 
and,  above  all  things,  craved  to  aid  her  Grace  in 
the  doing  of  her  good  deeds.  To  such  work  she 
gave  herself  with  the  devotion  of  one  who  would 
strive  to  work  out  a  penance. 

Her  own  attendant  was  one  of  those  whom  her 
sister  had  aided,  and  was  a  young  creature  with  a 
piteous  little  story  indeed — a  pretty,  rosy,  country 
child  of  but  seventeen  when,  after  her  Grace's 
marriage,  she  came  to  Camylott  to  serve  Mistress 
Anne. 

On  her  first  coming  my  lord  Duke  had  marked 
her  and  the  sadness  of  her  innocent,  childish  face 
and  blue  eyes,  and  had  spoken  of  her  to  Anne, 
asking  if  she  had  met  with  some  misfortune. 

"  A  pretty,  curly -headed  creature  such  as  she 
should  be  a  village  beauty  and  dimpling  with 
smiles,"  he  said,  "  but  the  little  thing  looks  some 
times  as  if  she  had  wept  a  year.  Who  has  done 
her  a  wrong  ?  " 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      427 

Mistress  Anne  gave  a  little  start  and  bent  lower 
over  her  embroidery  frame,  but  her  Grace,  who 
was  in  the  apartment,  answered  for  her, 

"  'Twas  Sir  John  Oxon,"  she  answered,  "  who 
has  wronged  so  many." 

"  What !  "  Osmonde  cried,  "  wrought  he  the 
poor  thing's  ruin  ?  " 

"  No,"  the  Duchess  replied  ;  "  but  would  have 
done  it,  and  she,  poor  child,  all  innocent,  believing 
herself  an  honest  wife.  He  had  so  planned  it,  but 
Fate  saved  her! " 

"A  mock  marriage,"  says  the  Duke,  "and  she 
saved  from  it!  How?" 

"  Because  the  day  she  went  to  him  to  be  mar 
ried,  as  he  had  told  her,  he  was  not  at  his  lodg 
ings,  and  did  not  return." 

"  'Twas  the  very  day  he  disappeared — the  day 
you  saw  him  ?  "  Osmonde  exclaimed. 

"  Yes/'  was  the  answer  given,  as  her  Grace 
crossed  the  room.  "  And  'twas  because  I  had  seen 
him  that  the  poor  thing  came  to  me  with  her  story 
— and  I  cared  for  her." 

She,  too,  had  been  sitting  at  her  embroidery 
frame,  and  had  crossed  the  room  for  silks,  which 
lay  upon  the  table  near  to  Mistress  Anne  As  she 
laid  her  hand  upon  them  she  locked  down  and  ut 
tered  a  low  exclamation,  springing  to  her  sister's 
side. 

"  Anne,  love!  '  she  cried.     "  Nay,  Anne  !  " 


428      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

Mistress  Anne's  small,  worn  face  had  dropped 
so  low  over  her  frame  that  it  at  last  lay  upon  it, 
showing  white  against  the  silken  roses  so  gaily 
broidered  there.  She  was  in  a  dead  swoon. 

Later  Osmonde  heard  further  details  of  this  sto 
ry — of  how  the  poor  child,  having  no  refuge  in 
the  great  city,  had  dared  at  last  to  go  to  Dun- 
stanwolde  House  in  the  wild  hope  that  her  lady 
ship,  who  had  last  seen  Sir  John,  might  tell  her 
if  he  had  let  drop  any  word  concerning  his  jour 
ney — if  he  had  made  one.  She  had  at  first  hung 
long  about  the  servants'  entrance,  watching  the 
workmen  who  were  that  day  walling  in  the  wing 
of  black  cellars  my  lady  had  wished  to  close  be 
fore  she  left  the  place,  and  at  length,  in  despera 
tion,  had  appealed  to  a  young  stone-mason,  with 
a  goocl-humoured  countenance,  and  he  had  inter 
ceded  for  her  with  a  lacquey  passing  by. 

"  But  had  I  not  spoke  Sir  John's  name,"  the  girl 
said  when  my  lord  Duke  spoke  kindly  to  her  of 
her  story  and  her  Grace's  goodness;  "  had  I  not 
spoke  his  name,  the  man  would  not  have  carried 
my  message.  But  he  said  she  would  see  me  if  I 
had  news  of  Sir  John  Oxori.  He  blundered,  your 
Grace,  thinking  I  came  from  Sir  John  himself, 
and  told  her  Grace  'twas  so.  And  she  bade  him 
bring  me  to  her." 

Her  Grace  she  worshipped,  and  would  break 


HIS   GRACE  OF   OSMONDE      429 

here  into  sobs  each  time  she  told  the  story,  de 
scribing  her  fright  when  she  had  been  led  to  the 
apartment  where  sate  the  great  lady,  who  had 
spoke  to  her  in  a  voice  like  music  and  with  such 
strange,  deep  pity  of  her  griel,  and  in  a  passion  of 
tenderness  had  told  the  truth  to  her,  taking  her, 
after  her  swoon,  in  her  own  strong,  lovely  arms, 
as  if  she  had  been  no  rich  Countess  but  a  poor 
woman,  such  as  she  who  wept,  and  one  whose 
heart,  too,  might  have  been  broke  by  a  cruel, 
deadly  blow. 

This  poor  simple  child  (who  was  in  time  cured 
of  her  wound  and  married  an  honest  fellow  who 
loved  her)  was  not  the  only  one  of  Sir  John  Ox- 
on's  victims  whom  her  Grace  protected.  There 
were,  indeed,  many  of  them,  and  'twas  as  though 
she  had  made  it  her  curious  duty  to  search  them 
out.  When  she  and  her  lord  lived  sumptuously 
at  Osmonde  House  in  town,  shining  at  Court,  en 
tertaining  Royalty  itself  at  their  home,  envied 
and  courted  by  all  as  the  happiest  married  lovers 
and  the  favourites  of  Fortune,  my  lord  Duke 
knew  that  many  a  day  she  cast  her  rich  robes 
and,  clad  in  the  dark  garments  and  black  hood, 
went  forth  to  visit  strange,  squalid  places.  Since 
the  hour  of  his  first  meeting  her  on  her  return 
from  such  an  errand,  when  they  had  spoken  to 
gether,  he  had  never  again  forbade  her  to  follow 
the  path  'twas  plain  she  had  chosen. 


430      HIS  GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

"  Were  I  going  forth  to  battle,"  he  had  said, 
lt  you  would  not  seek  to  hold  me  back ;  and  in 
your  battle,  for  it  seems  one  to  me,  though  I  know 
not  what  .'tis  fought  for,  I  will  not  restrain  you." 

"  Ay,  'tis  a  battle,"  she  had  said,  and  seized  his 
hands  and  kissed  them  as  if  in  passionate  grati 
tude.  "  And  'tis  a  debt — a  debt  I  swore  to  pay — 
if  that  we  call  God  would  let  me.  Perhaps  He 
will  not,  but  were  He  you — who  know  my  soul 
-He  would." 

Yet  but  a  few  hours  later,  when  he  joined  her 
in  the  Mall,  where  she  had  descended  from  her 
coach  to  walk  with  the  world  of  fashion  and 
moved  among  the  wits  and  beaux  and  leaders  of 
the  mode,  drawing  all  round  her  by  the  marvel  of 
her  spirit  and  the  brilliancy  of  her  gayety  and 
bearing,  he  hearing  her  rich  laughter  and  meet 
ing  the  bright  look  of  her  lovely,  flashing  eyes, 
wondered  if  she  was  the  woman  whose  voice  still 
lingered  in  his  ears  and  the  memory  of  whose 
words  would  not  leave  his  fervent  heart. 

Their  love  was  so  perfect  a  thing  that  they  had 
never  denied  each  other  aught.  Why  should 
they;  indeed,  how  could  they?  Each  so  under 
stood  and  trusted  the  other  that  they  scarce  had 
need  for  words  in  the  deciding  of  such  questions 
as  other  pairs  must  reason  gravely  over.  There 
was  no  question,  only  one  thought  between  them, 
and  in  his  life  a  thing  which  grew  each  hour  as 


HIS   GRACE   OF  OSMONDE      431 

he  had  long  since  known  it  would.  'Twas  this 
woman  whom  he  loved — this  one — her  looks,  her 
ways,  her  laughter  and  her  tears,  her  very  faults, 
if  she  should  have  them,  her  past,  her  present, 
and  her  future  which  seemed  all  himself. 

That— Duchess  of  Osmonde  though  she  might 
be — she  was  known  in  dark  places  and  moved 
among  the  foul  evil  there,  like  the  sun  which 
strove  at  rare  hours  to  cleanse  and  dispel  it ;  that 
she  had  in  kennels  and  noisome  dens  strange 
friends,  was  a  thing  at  first  vaguely  rumoured  be 
cause  the  world  had  ever  loved  its  stories  of  her, 
and  been  ready  to  believe  any  it  heard  and  invent 
new  ones  when  it  had  tired  of  the  old.  But  there 
came  a  time  when  through  a  strange  occurrence 
the  rumour  \vas  proved,  most  singularly,  to  be  a 
truth. 

Two  gilt  coaches,  full  of  chattering  fine  ladies 
and  gentlemen,  were  being  driven  on  a  certain 
day  through  a  part  of  the  town  not  ordinarily 
frequented  by  fashion,  but  the  occupants  of  the 
coaches  had  been  entertaining  themselves  with  a 
great  and  curious  sight  it  had  been  their  delicate 
fancy  to  desire  to  behold  as  an  exciting  novelty. 
This  had  been  no  less  an  exhibition  than  the  hang 
ing  of  two  malefactors  on  Tyburn  Hill — the  one  a 
handsome  young  highwayman,  the  other  a  poor 
woman  executed  for  larceny. 

The  highwayman  had  been  a  favourite  and  had 


432       HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

died  gaily,  and  that  he  should  have  been  cut  off  in 
his  prime  had  put  the  crowd  (among  which  were 
several  of  his  yet  uncaught  companions)  in  an  ill- 
humour  ;  the  poor  woman  had  wept  and  made  a 
poor  end,  which  had  added  to  the  anger  of  the 
beholders. 

'Twas  an  evil,  squalid,  malodorous  mob,  not  of  the 
better  class  of  thieves  and  tatterdemalions,  but  of 
the  worst,  being  made  up  of  cutthroats  out  of  luck, 
pickpockets,  and  poor  wretches  who  were  the  scour- 
ings  of  the  town  and  the  refuse  of  the  kennel.  'Twas 
just  the  crowd  to  be  roused  to  some  insensate  fren 
zy,  being  hungry,  bitter,  and  vicious ;  and  when, 
making  ready  to  slouch  back  to  its  dens,  its  atten 
tion  was  attracted  by  the  gay  coaches,  with  their 
liveries  and  high-fed  horses,  and  their  burden  of 
silks  and  velvets,  and  plumes  nodding  over  laugh 
ing,  carefree,  selfish  faces,  it  fell  into  a  sudden  fit  of 
animal  rage. 

'Twas  a  woman  who  began  it.  (She  had  been  a 
neighbour  of  the  one  who  had  just  met  punishment, 
and  in  her  own  hovel  at  that  moment  lay  hid  stolen 
goods.)  She  was  a  wild  thing,  with  a  battered 
face  and  unkempt  hair ;  her  rags  hung  about  her 
waving,  and  she  had  a  bloodshot,  fierce  eye. 

"  Look ! "  she  screamed  out  suddenly,  high  and 
shrill ;  "  look  at  them  in  their  goold  coaches  riding 
home  from  Tyburn,  where  they've  seen  their  bet 
ters  swing ! " 


HIS   GRACE  OF   OSMONDE      433 

The  ladies  in  the  chariots,  pretty,  heartless  fools, 
started  affrighted  in  their  seats,  and  strove  to  draw 
back ;  their  male  companions,  who  were  as  pretty, 
effeminate  fools  themselves  and  of  as  little  spirit, 
started  also,  and  began  to  look  pale  about  the 
gills. 

"Look  at  them!"  shrieked  the  virago,  "shiv 
ering  like  rabbits.  A  pretty  end  they  would  make 
if  they  were  called  to  dance  at  a  rope's  end. 
Look  ye  at  them,  with  their  white  faces  and  their 
swords  and  periwigs  !  " 

And  she  stood  still,  waving  her  arms,  and  poured 
forth  a  torrent  of  curses. 

'Twas  enough.  The  woman  beside  her  looked 
and  began  to  shake  her  fist,  seized  by  the  same 
frenzy ;  her  neighbour  caught  up  her  cry,  her  neigh 
bour  hers ;  a  sodden-faced  thief  broke  into  a  howl 
ing  laugh,  another  followed  him,  the  madness 
spread  from  side  to  side,  and  in  a  moment  the  big 
foul  crowd  surged  about  the  coaches,  shrieking 
blasphemies  and  obscenities,  shaking  fists,  howl 
ing  cries  of  "  Shame!"  and  threats  of  vengeance. 

"  Turn  over  the  coaches  !  Drag  them  out ! 
Tear  their  finery  from  them  !  Stuff  their  mincing 
mouths  with  mud  !  "  rose  all  about  them. 

The  servants  were  dragged  from  their  seats  and 

hauled  from  side  to  side,  their  liveries  were  in 

ribbands,  their  terrified  faces,  ghastly  with  terror 

and  streaming  with  blood,  might  be  seen  one  mo- 

28 


434      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

ment  in  one  place,  the  next  in  another,  sometimes 
they  seemed  down  on  the  ground.  The  crowd 
roared  with  rage  and  laughter  at  their  cries.  One 
lady  swooned  with  terror,  one  or  two  crouched 
on  the  floor  of  the  coach  ;  the  dandies  gesticulated 
and  called  for  help. 

"  They  will  kill  us  !  they  will  kill  us !  "  screamed 
the  finest  beau  among  them.  4<  The  watch !  the 
watch  !  The  constables !  " 

"  Tis  worse  than  the  Mohocks,"  cried  another, 
but  his  hand  so  shook  he  could  not  have  drawn 
his  sword  if  he  had  dared. 

The  next  instant  the  glass  of  the  first  coach  was 
smashed  and  its  door  beaten  open.  A  burly  fel 
low  seized  upon  a  shrieking  beauty  and  dragged 
her  forth  laughing,  dealing  her  gallant  a  mighty 
clout  on  the  face  as  he  caught  her.  Blood  spouted 
from  the  poor  gentleman's  delicate  aquiline  nose, 
and  the  mob  danced  and  yelled. 

"  Drag 'em  all  out!  "  was  roared  by  the  sodden- 
faced  thief.  "  The  women  to  the  women  and  the 
men  to  the  men,  and  then  change  about."  The 
creatures  were  like  wild  beasts,  and  their  prey 
would  have  been  torn  to  pieces,  but  at  that  mo 
ment,  from  a  fellow  at  the  edge  of  the  crowd  broke 
a  startled  oath. 

Someone  had  made  way  to  him  and  laid  a 
strong  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  there  was  that 
in  his  cry  which  made  those  nearest  turn. 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      435 

A  tall  figure  in  black  draperies  stood  tower 
ing  above  him,  and  in  truth  above  all  the  rest  of 
the  crowd.  'Twas  a  woman,  and  she  called  out  to 
the  mad  creatures  about  her  in  command. 

"  Fools  !  "  she  cried  ;  "  have  a  care.  Do  you 
want  to  swing  at  a  rope's  end  yourselves?  "  'Twas 
a  fierce  voice,  the  voice  of  a  brave  creature  who 
feared  none  of  them ;  though  'twas  a  rich  voice 
and  a  woman's,  and  so  rang  with  authority  that  it 
actually  checked  the  tempest  for  a  moment  and 
made  the  leaders  turn  to  look.  She  made  her  way 
nearer  and  threw  back  her  hood  from  her  face. 

"  I  am  Clorinda  Mertoun,  who  is  Duchess  of 
Osmonde,"  she  cried  to  them.  "  There  are  many 
of  you  know  me.  Call  back  your  senses,  and 
hearken  to  what  I  say." 

The  ladies  afterwards  in  describing  the  scene 
used  to  quake  as  they  tried  to  paint  this  moment. 

"  There  was  a  cry  that  was  like  a  low  howl," 
they  said,  "as  if  beasts  were  baffled  and  robbed  of 
their  prey.  Some  of  them  knew  her  and  some 
did  not,  but  they  all  stood  and  stared.  Good 
Lord  !  'twas  her  great  black  eyes  that  held  them  ; 
but  I  shall  be  affrighted  when  I  think  of  her,  till 
my  dying  day." 

'Twas  her  big  black  eyes  and  the  steady  flame 
in  them  that  held  the  poor  frenzied  fools,  per 
chance  as  wolves  are  said  to  be  held  by  the  eye  of 
man  sometimes  ;  but  'twas  another  thing,  and  on 


436      HIS   GRACE   OF  OSMONDE 

that  she  counted.  She  looked  round  from  one 
face  to  the  other. 

"  You  know  me,"  she  said  to  one;  "and  you, 
and  you,  and  you,"  nodding  at  each.  "  I  can  pick 
out  a  dozen  of  you  who  know  me,  and  should  find 
more  if  I  marked  you  all.  How  many  here  are 
my  friends  and  servants?" 

There  was  a  strange  hoarse  chorus  of  sounds ; 
they  were  the  voices  of  women  who  were  poor 
bedraggled  drabs,  men  who  were  thieves  and  cut 
throats,  a  few  shrill  voices  of  lads  who  were  pick 
pockets  and  ripe  for  the  gallows  already. 

"  Ay,  we  know  thee  !  Ay,  your  Grace !  Ay  ! " 
they  cried,  some  in  half-sullen  grunts,  some  as  if 
half-affrighted,  but  all  in  the  tones  of  creatures 
who  suddenly  began  to  submit  to  a  thing  they 
wondered  at. 

Then  the  woman  who  had  begun  the  turmoil 
suddenly  fell  down  on  her  knees  and  began  to  kiss 
her  Grace's  garments  with  hysteric,  choking  sobs. 

"  She  said  thou  wert  the  only  creature  had  ever 
spoke  her  fair,"  she  cried.  "  She  said  thou  hadst 
saved  her  from  going  distraught  when  she  lay  in 
the  gaol.  Just  before  the  cart  was  driven  away 
she  cried  out  sobbing,  *  Oh,  Lord !  Oh,  your 
Grace ! '  and  they  thought  her  praying,  but  /  knew 
she  prayed  to  thee." 

The  Duchess  put  her  hand  on  the  woman's 
greasy,  foul  shoulder  and  answered  in  a  strange 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      437 

voice,  nodding  her  head,  her  black  brows  knit,  her 
red  mouth  drawn  in. 

"  Tis  over  now !  "  she  said.  "  'Tis  over  and  she 
quiet,  and  perchance  ere  this  she  has  seen  a  fair 
thing.  Poor  soul !  poor  soul !  " 

By  this  time  the  attacked  party  had  gained 
strength  to  dare  to  move.  The  pretty  creature 
who  had  been  first  dragged  forth  from  the  coach 
uttered  a  shriek  and  fell  on  her  knees,  clutching  at 
her  rescuer's  robe. 

"Oh,  your  Grace!  your  Grace!"  she  wept; 
"  have  mercy  !  have  mercy  !  " 

"  Mercy!"  said  her  Grace,  looking  down  at  the 
tower  of  powdered  hair  decked  with  gewgaws. 
"  Mercy !  Sure  we  all  need  it.  Your  ladyship 
came — for  sport — to  see  a  woman  hang  ?  I  saw 
her  in  the  gaol  last  night  waiting  her  doom,  which 
would  come  with  the  day's  dawning.  'Twas  not 
sport.  Had  you  been  there  with  us,  you  would 
not  have  come  here  to-day.  Get  up,  my  lady, 
and  return  to  your  coach.  Make  way,  there!" 
raising  her  voice.  "  Let  that  poor  fellow,"  point 
ing  to  the  ashen-faced  coachman,  "mount  to  his 
place.  Be  less  disturbed,  Sir  Charles,"  to  the 
trembling  fop,  "  my  friends  will  let  you  go  free." 

And  that  they  did,  strangely  enough,  though 
'twas  not  willingly,  the  victims  knew,  as  they  hud 
dled  into  their  places,  shuddering,  and  were 
driven  away,  the  crowd  standing  glaring  after 


438      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

them,  a  man  or  so  muttering  blasphemies,  though 
none  made  any  movement  to  follow,  but  loitered 
about  and  cast  glances  at  her  Grace  of  Osmonde, 
who  waited  till  the  equipages  were  well  out  of 
sight  and  danger. 

"  'Twas  wasted  rage,"  she  said  to  those  about 
her.  "  The  poor  light  fools  were  not  worth  ill- 
usage." 

The  next  day  the  Duke  heard  the  tale,  which 
had  flown  abroad  over  the  town.  His  very  soul 
was  thrilled  by  it  and  that  it  told  him,  and  he 
went  to  her  Grace  and  poured  forth  to  her  a  pas 
sion  of  love  that  was  touched  with  awe. 

"  I  could  see  you !  "  he  cried,  "  when  they  told 
the  story  to  me.  1  could  see  you  as  you  stood 
there  and  held  the  wild  beasts  at  bay.  'Twas  that  I 
saw  in  your  child-eyes  when  you  rode  past  me  in 
the  hunting-field  ;  'twas  that  fire  which  held  them 
back,  and  the  great  sweet  soul  of  you  which  has 
reached  them  in  their  dens  and  made  you  wor 
shipped  of  them." 

"'Twas  that  they  know  me,"  she  answered; 
"  'twas  that  I  have  stood  by  their  sides  in  their 
blackest  hours.  I  have  seen  their  children  born. 
I  have  helped  their  old  ones  and  their  young 
through  death.  Some  I  have  saved  from  the  gal 
lows.  Some  I  have— "  she  stopped  and  hung 
her  head  as  if  black  memories  overpowered  her. 

He  knew  what  she  had  left  unfinished. 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      439 

"You  have  been — to  comfort  those  who  lie  in 
Newgate — at  their  last  extremity?"  he  ended  for 
her. 

"  Ay,"  she  answered.  "The  one  who  will  show 
kindness  to  them  in  those  awful  hours  they  wor 
ship  as  God's  self.  There  was  a  poor  fellow  I 
once  befriended  there  " — she  spoke  slowly  and 
her  voice  shook.  "  He  was  condemned — for  tak 
ing  a  man's  life.  The  last  night — before  I  left 
him — he  knelt  to  me  and  swore — he  had  meant 
not  murder.  He  had  struck  in  rage — one  who 
had  tortured  him  with  taunts  till  he  went  raving. 
He  struck,  and  the  man  fell — and  he  had  killed 
him!  And  now  must  hang." 

"  Good  God ! "  cried  my  lord  Duke.  "  By 
chance !  In  frenzy  !  Not  knowing !  And  he 
died  for  it?" 

"  Ay,"  she  answered,  her  great  eyes  on  his  and 
wide  with  horror,  "  on  Tyburn  Tree ! " 


CHAPTER  XXXI 
Their  Graces  Keep  their  Wedding  Day  at  Camylott 

"  SHE  came  to  Court  at  last,  my  Lord  Duke," 
said  his  Grace  of  Marlborough.  "  She  came  at 
last — as  I  felt  sure  'twas  Fate  she  should." 

'Twas  at  Camylott  he  said  this,  where  he  had 
come  in  those  days  which  darkened  about  him 
when,  royal  favour  lost,  the  acclamations  of  a 
fickle  public  stilled,  its  clamour  of  applause  almost 
forgot  and  denied  by  itself,  his  glory  as  statesman, 
commander,  warrior  seemed  to  sink  beneath  the 
horizon  like  a  sunset  in  a  winter  sky.  His  splen 
did  frame  shattered  by  the  stroke  of  illness,  his 
heart  bereaved,  his  great  mind  dulled  and  sad 
dened,  there  were  few  friends  faithful  to  him,  but 
my  Lord  Duke  of  Osmonde,  who  had  never  sought 
his  favour  or  required  his  protection,  who  had 
often  held  views  differing  from  his  own  and  hid 
den  none  of  them,  was  among  the  few  in  whose 
company  he  found  solace  and  pleasure. 

"  I  see  you  as  I  was,"  he  would  say.  "  Nay, 
rather  as  I  might  have  been  had  Nature  given  me 
a  thing  she  gave  to  you  and  withheld  from  John 
Churchill.  You  were  the  finer  creature  and  less 
disturbed  by  poor  worldly  dreams." 

440 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      441 

So  more  than  once  he  came  to  be  guest  at 
Camylott,  and  would  be  moved  to  pleasure  by 
the  happiness  and  fulness  of  life  in  the  very  air  of 
the  place,  by  the  joyousness  of  the  tall,  handsome 
children,  by  the  spirit  and  sweet  majesty  of  the 
tall  beauty  their  mother,  by  the  loveliness  of  the 
country  and  the  cheerful  air  of  well-being  among 
the  villagers  and  tenantry.  But  most  of  all  he 
gave  thought  to  the  look  which  dwelt  in  the  eyes 
of  my  Lord  Duke  and  the  woman  who  was  so 
surely  mate  and  companion  as  well  as  wife  to  him. 
When,  though  'twas  even  at  the  simplest  moment, 
each  looked  at  the  other,  'twas  a  heavenly  thing 
plain  to  see. 

Upon  one  of  their  wedding-days  he  was  at 
Camylott  with  them.  'Twas  but  a  short  time  be 
fore  the  quiet  death  of  Mistress  Anne,  and  was  the 
tenth  anniversary  of  their  Graces'  union. 

At  Camylott  they  always  spent  their  anniver 
sary,  though  upon  their  other  domains  the  rejoic 
ings  which  made  Camylott  happy  were  also  held. 
These  festivities  were  gay  and  rustic,  including 
the  pealing  of  church  bells,  the  lighting  of  bon 
fires,  rural  games,  and  feastings ;  but  they  were 
most  noted  for  a  feature  her  Grace  herself  had 
invented  before  she  had  yet  been  twelve  months 
a  wife,  and  'twas  a  pretty  fancy,  too,  as  well  as  a 
kind  thought. 

She  had  talked  of  it  first  to  her  husband  one 


442       HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

summer  afternoon  as  they  walked  together  in  the 
gold  glow  of  sunset  through  Camylott  Woods. 
'Twas  one  of  many  happy  hours  shared  with  her 
which  he  remembered  to  his  life's  end,  and  could 
always  call  up  in  his  mind  the  deep  amber  light 
filtering  through  the  trees,  the  thick  green  growth 
of  the  ferns  and  the  scent  of  them,  the  moss  un 
der  foot  and  on  the  huge  fallen  trunk  they  at  last 
sate  down  upon. 

"  To  every  man,  woman,  and  child  we  rule 
over,"  she  said,  "  on  that  day  we  will  give  a  wed 
ding  gift.  As  the  year  passes  we  will  discover 
what  each  longs  for  most,  and  that  thing  we  will 
give.  So  on  that  heavenly  day  each  one  shall 
have  his  heart's  desire — in  memory,"  she  added, 
with  soft  solemnity. 
And  he  echoed  her. ' 

"  In  memory!"  For  neither  at  that  time  nor  at 
any  other  did  either  of  them  forget  those  hours 
they  had  lived  apart  and  how  Fate  had  seemed  to 
work  them  ill,  and  how  they  had  been  desolate 
and  hungered. 

So  on  each  morning  of  the  wedding-day,  while 
the  bells  were  ringing  a  peal,  the  flag  flying  from 
the  Tower,  the  park  prepared  for  games  and 
feasting,  a  crowd  of  ruddy  countenances,  clean 
smocks,  petticoats,  and  red  cloaks  flocked  on  the 
terrace  from  which  the  gifts  were  given. 

'Twas  from  his  invalid-chair  within  the  library 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE       443 

window  that  the  once  great  Commander  sate  and 
saw  this  sight ;  her  Grace  standing  by  her  hus 
band  at  a  long  table,  giving  each  gift  with  her 
own  hand  and  saying  a  few  words  to  each  recipi 
ent  with  a  bright  freedom  'twas  worth  any  man's 
while  to  see. 

The  looker-on  remembered  the  histories  he  had 
heard  of  the  handsome  hoyden  whose  male  attire 
had  been  the  Gloucestershire  scandal,  the  Court 
beauty  who  in  the  midst  of  her  triumphs  had 
chosen  to  play  gentle  consort  to  an  old  husband, 
the  Duchess  who  shone  in  the  great  world  like 
the  sun  and  who  yet  doffed  her  brocades  and 
jewels  to  don  serge  and  canvas  and  labour  in 
Rag  Yard  and  Slaughter  Alley  to  rescue  thieves 
and  beggars  and  watch  the  mothers  of  their  hap 
less  children  in  their  throes.  Ay,  and  more  yet, 
to  sit  in  the  black  condemned-cell  at  Newgate 
and  hold  the  hand  and  pour  courage  into  the  soul 
of  a  shuddering  wretch  who  in  the  cold  grey  of 
morning  would  dangle  from  a  gallows  tree. 

"  'Tis  a  strange  nature,"  he  thought,  "  and  has 
ever  been  so.  It  has  passed  through  some 
strange  hours  and  some  dark  ones.  Yet  to  be 
hold  her " 

There  had  come  to  her  side  a  young  couple, 
the  woman  with  a  child  in  her  arms  courtesying 
blushingly,  her  youthful  husband  grinning  and 
pulling  his  forelock. 


444      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

Her  Grace  took  the  infant  and  cuddled  and 
kissed  it,  while  its  father  and  mother  glowed  with 
delight. 

"  Tis  a  fine  boy,  Betty,"  she  said.  "  Tis  bigger 
than  the  last  one,  Tom.  His  christening  finery  is 
in  the  package  here,  and  I  will  stand  sponsor  as 
before." 

"  Mother,"  said  young  John  at  her  elbow,  "  may 
I  not  stand  sponsor,  too?" 

She  laughed  and  pulled  his  long  love-locks. 

"  Ay,  my  lord  Marquess,"  she  answered,  "  if  his 
parents  are  willing  to  take  such  a  young  one." 

Mistress  Anne  sate  by  their  guest,  he  holding 
her  in  great  favour.  As  the  people  came  for 
their  gifts  she  told  him  their  names  and  stories. 
Through  weakness  she  walked  about  but  little  in 
these  days,  and  the  failing  soldier  liked  her  com 
pany,  so  she  often  sate  near  him  in  her  lounging- 
chair  and  with  gentle  artfulness  lured  him  into 
reminiscences  of  his  past  campaigns.  She  was 
very  frail  to-day,  and  in  her  white  robe,  and  with 
her  large  eyes  which  seemed  to  have  outgrown 
her  face,  she  looked  like  the  wraith  of  a  woman 
rather  than  a  creature  of  flesh  and  blood. 

"Those  two  her  Grace  rescued,"  she  said,  as 
Betty  and  Tom  Beck  retired ;  "  the  one  from  woe, 
the  other  from  cruel  wickedness.  He  had  be 
trayed  the  poor  child  and  deserted  her,  and  'twas 
her  Grace  who  touched  his  heart  and  woke  man- 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE       445 

hood  in  it,  and  made  them  happy  man  and 
wife." 

Then  came  an  old  woman  leading  a  girl  and 
boy,  both  fair  and  blooming  and  with  blue  eyes 
and  fair  curling  locks. 

"  Are  they  both  well  and  both  happy,  dame?" 
the  Duchess  asked.  "  Yes,  that  they  are,  I  see. 
And  I  know  they  are  both  good." 

She  took  the  girl's  face  in  both  hands  and  smiled 
into  it  as  she  might  have  smiled  at  a  flower, 
and  then  kissed  her  tenderly.  She  gave  her  a  lit 
tle  new  gown  and  a  pretty  huswife  stocked  with 
implements  to  make  it.  She  put  her  hand  on 
the  boy's  shoulder  and  looked  at  him  as  his 
mother  would  have  looked  had  she  been  tender 
of  him. 

"  For  you,  Robin,"  she  said,  "  there  are  books. 
I  know  'tis  books  and  learning  you  long  for,  and 
you  shall  have  them.  His  Grace's  Chaplain  has 
promised  me  to  teach  you." 

The  boy  clasped  the  books  under  his  arm,  hug 
ging  them  against  his  breast,  and  when  her  Grace 
turned  to  the  next  newcomer  he  seized  a  fold  of 
her  robe  and  kissed  it. 

"Who  are  those  children?"  the  Captain-Gen 
eral  asked.  "  They  do  not  look  like  rustics." 

"  Those  two  she  rescued  also,"  answered  Mis 
tress  Anne  in  a  low  voice.  "  She  found  them  in  a 
thieves'  haunt  being  trained  as  pickpockets.  They 


446      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

are  the  cast-off  offspring  of  a  gentleman  who  lived 
an  evil  life." 

"  Was  she  told  his  name?" 

"Yes,"  Mistress  Anne  said,  lower  still;  "'twas 
a  gentleman  who  was — lost.  Sir  John  Oxon." 

The  mystery  of  this  gentleman's  disappearance 
was  a  thing  forgotten,  but  Mistress  Anne's  hearer 
recalled  it,  and  that  the  man  had  left  an  evil  rep 
utation,  and  that  'twas  said  that  in  the  first  bloom 
of  his  youth  he  had  been  among  the  worshippers 
of  the  Gloucestershire  beauty,  and  there  passed 
through  the  old  Duke's  mind  a  vague  wonder  as 
to  whether  the  Duchess  remembered  girlish  senti 
ments  the  hoyden  had  lived  through  and  forgot. 

It  seemed  the  man's  name  being  once  drawn 
from  the  past  was  not  to  be  allowed  to  rest,  for 
later  in  the  day  he  heard  of  him  again,  and  curi 
ously  indeed. 

There  came  in  the  afternoon  from  town  a  sturdy, 
loud-voiced  country  gentleman,  with  a  red,  honest 
face  and  a  good-humoured  eye,  and  he  was  so  re 
ceived  by  the  family — by  his  Grace,  who  shook 
him  warmly  by  the  hand,  by  the  Duchess,  who 
gave  him  both  hers  to  kiss,  and  by  the  young 
ones,  who  cried  out  in  rejoicing  over  him — that 
their  distinguished  guest  perceived  him  to  be  an 
old  friend  who  was,  as  it  were,  an  old  comrade. 

And  so  it  proved,  for  'twas  soon  revealed  to  him 
by  the  gentleman  himself  (whose  name  was  Sir 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      447 

Christopher  Crowell,  and  whose  estate  lay  on  the 
borders  of  Warwickshire  and  Gloucestershire)  that 
he  had  been  one  ot  the  boon  companions  of  her 
Grace's  father,  Sir  Jeoffry  Wildairs,  and  he  had 
known  her  from  the  time  she  was  five  years  old, 
and  had  been  first  made  the  comrade  and  play 
thing  of  a  band  of  the  worst  rioters  in  three  coun 
ties. 

"  Ay ! "  he  cried,  exultantly,  for  he  seemed  always 
exultant  when  he  spoke  of  her  Grace,  who  was 
plainly  his  idol.  "  At  seven  she  would  toss  off  her 
ale,  and  sing  and  swear  as  wickedly  as  any  man 
among  us,  and  had  great  black  eyes  that  Hashed  fire 
when  we  crossed  her,  and  her  hair  hung  below  her 
waist,  and  she  was  the  most  beauteous  child-devil 
and  the  most  lawless,  that  man  or  woman  ever  clapt 
eyes  on.  And  to  behold  her  now !  to  behold  her 
now  ! "  And  then  he  motioned  towards  the  little 
Anne,  who  was  flashing-eyed,  and  long-limbed,  and 
a  brown  beauty.  "  Tis  my  Lady  Anne  who  is 
most  like  her,"  he  said  ;  "  but  Lord !  she  hath  been 
treated  fair  by  Fortune,  and  loved  and  cherished, 
and  is  a  young  queen  already." 

Later,  when  the  night  had  fallen  and  was  thick 
with  stars,  and  the  festal  lights  were  twinkling  like 
other  stars  among  the  trees  of  the  park,  and  from 
the  happy  crowds  at  play  there  floated  the  sounds 
of  laughter  and  joyful  voices,  their  Graces  and 
their  guests  sate  or  walked  upon  the  terrace  amid 


448      HIS  GRACE  OF  OSMONDE 

the  night-scents  of  flowers  and  watched  the  mer 
riment  going  on  below  them  and  talked  together. 

"  Ay,"  broke  forth  old  Sir  Christopher,  "  you 
two  happy  folk  light  joyful  fires,  and  make  joyful 
hearts  wheresoever  you  go." 

'Twas  at  this  moment  two  of  the  other  country 
guests — they  being  old  Gloucestershire  comrades 
also — stayed  their  sauntering  before  her  Grace  to 
speak  to  her. 

"  Eldershawe  and  me  have  just  been  saying," 
broke  forth  one  of  them,  chuckling,  "  how  this 
bringeth  back  old  times,  though  'tis  little  like 
them.  We  three  were  of  the  birthnight  party— 
Eldershawe,  Chris,  and  me.  Thou  dost  not  for 
get  old  friends,  Clo,  and  would  not,  wert  thou  ten 
times  a  Duchess." 

"  Nay,  not  I,"  answered  her  Grace.     "  Not  I." 

"  There  be  not  many  of  us  left,"  said  Sir  Chris 
topher,  ruefully.  "  Thy  poor  old  Dad  is  under 
sod,  and  others  with  him.  Two  necks  were 
broke  in  hunting,  the  others  died  of  years  or 
drink." 

"  But  one  we  know  naught  of,  egad  !  "  said  my 
Lord  Eidershawe,  "  and  he  was  my  kinsman." 

"  Lord,  yes,"  cried  out  the  other;  "  Jack  Oxon  ! 
Jack,  who  came  among  us  all  curls  and  essences 
and  brocades  and  lace.  Thou'st  not  forgot  Jack 
Oxon,  Clo,  for  the  fellow  was  wild  in  love  with 
thee." 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      449 

"  No,  I  have  not  forgotten  Sir  John,"  she  an 
swered,  and  turned  aside  a  little  to  break  a  rose 
from  a  bush  near  her  and  hold  it  to  her  face. 

"  Nay,  that  she  hath  not,"  cried  Sir  Christopher, 
"  that  I  can  swear  to.  I  saw  the  boy  and  girl  to 
day,  Clo,  and,  Lord  !  how  they  are  like  to  him." 

"  Yes,  they  are  like  him,"  she  answered,  gravely. 

"  The  two  thou  show'dst  me  playing  'neath  the 
trees?"  said  Eldershawe.  "Ay,  they  are  like 
enough." 

"  And  but  for  her  Grace  would  have  been 
brought  up  a  hang-dog  thief  and  a  poor  drab, 
with  all  their  beauty,"  went  on  Sir  Christopher. 
"  Ecod,  thou  hast  done  well,  Clo,  the  task  'twas 
thy  whim  to  take  upon  thyself." 

"What  generous  deed  was  that?"  asked  my 
lord  Duke  of  Osmonde,  drawing  near. 

"  The  task  of  undoing  the  wrongs  a  villain 
had  done,  if  'twere  so  there  could  be  undoing 
of  them,"  answered  the  old  fellow.  "A  woman 
rich  as  I,"  said  she,  "  should  set  herself  some  good 
work  to  do.  This  shall  be  mine — to  live  John 
Oxon's  life  again  and  make  it  bring  forth  good 
instead  of  evil." 

Her  Grace  sate  motionless  and  so  did  Mistress 
Anne,  who  had  sunk  back  in  her  chair,  and  in  the 
starlit  darkness  had  grown  more  white,  and  was 
breathing  faint  and  quickly.  In  the  park  below 
the  people  laughed  as  merry-makers  will,  in  gay 
29 


450       HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

bursts,  and  half  a  dozen  voices  broke  forth  into  a 
snatch  of  song.  'Twas  a  good  background  for 
Sir  Christopher,  who  was  well  launched  upon  a 
subject  that  he  loved  and  had  not  often  chance  to 
hold  forth  upon,  as  her  Grace  was  not  fond  of 
touching  upon  it. 

"  Ten  years  hath  she  followed  his  wicked  foot 
steps  and  I  have  followed  with  her,"  he  rambled 
on.  "  I  am  not  squeamish,  Lord  knoweth  !  and 
have  no  reason  to  be ;  but  had  I  known,  when  I 
began  to  aid  in  the  searching,  what  mire  I  should 
have  to  wade  through,  ecod  !  I  think  I  should 
have  said,  '  Let  ill  alone.' ' 

"  But  you  did  not,  old  friend,"  said  the  Duch 
ess's  rich,  low  voice  ;  "  you  did  not." 

Lady  Betty  and  her  swains  had  sauntered  near 
and  joined  the  circle,  attracted  by  the  subject 
which  waked  in  them  a  new  interest  in  an  old 
mystery. 

"  You  have  been  her  Grace's  almoner,  Sir 
Christopher,"  said  her  ladyship.  "  That  accounts 
for  the  stories  I  have  heard  of  your  charities. 
They  were  her  Grace's  good  deeds,  not  your 
own." 

"  She  knew  I  would  sweep  the  kennel  for  her 
on  hands  and  knees  if  she  would  have  me,"  said 
Sir  Chris,  "  and  at  the  first  of  it  she  knew  not 
the  ill  quarters  of  the  town  as  I  did,  and  bade 
me  make  search  for  her  and  ask  questions.  But 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE       451 

'twas  not  long  before  she  found  her  way  herself 
and  learned  that  a  tall,  strong  beauty  can  do  more 
to  reach  hearts  than  a  red-faced  old  man  can. 
Lord,  how  they  love  and  fear  her !  And  among 
the  honest  folk  Jack  Oxon  wronged — poor  trades 
men  he  ruined  by  his  trickery,  and  simple  work 
ing-folk  who  lost  their  all  through  him — they 
would  kiss  the  dust  her  shoe  hath  trod.  His 
debts  she  hath  paid,  his  victims  she  hath  rescued, 
the  wounds  he  dealt  she  hath  healed  and  made 
sound  flesh,  and  for  ten  years  she  hath  done 
it!" 

Her  Grace  rose  to  her  feet,  the  rose  uplifted  in 
a  listening  gesture.  From  the  park  below  there 
floated  up  the  lilting  music  of  a  dance,  a  light,  un- 
rustic  measure  played  by  their  own  musicians. 

"  The  dancing  begins,"  she  said.  "  Hark  !  the 
dancing  begins." 

Mistress  Anne  put  out  her  hand  and  caught  at 
her  sister's  dress  and  held  a  fold  of  its  richness  in 
her  trembling  hand,  though  her  Grace  was  not 
aware  of  what  she  did. 

"  How  sweet  the  music  sounds,"  the  poor 
gentlewoman  said,  nervously.  "  How  sweet  it 
sounds." 

My  Lady  Betty  Tantillion  held  up  her  hand  as 
the  Duchess,  a  moment  since,  had  held  the  rose. 

"  I  have  heard  that  tune  before,"  she  cried. 

"  And  I,"  said  Lord  Charles. 


452       HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

"  And  I,"  Sir  Harry  Granville  echoed. 

Lady  Betty  broke  into  a  shiver. 

"  Why,"  she  cried,  "  how  strange — at  just  this 
moment.  We  danced  to  it  at  the  ball  at  Dunstan- 
wolde  House  the  very  night  'twas  made  known 
Sir  John  Oxon  had  disappeared." 

The  Duchess  held  the  rose  poised  in  her  hand 
and  slowly  bent  her  head. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "'tis  the  very  tune." 

She  stood  among  them — my  lord  Duke  remem 
bered  it  later — the  centre  figure  of  a  sort  of  cir 
cle,  some  sitting,  some  standing — his  Grace  of 
Maryborough,  Mistress  Anne,  Osmonde  himself, 
the  country  gentlemen,  my  Lady  Betty  and  her 
swains,  and  others  who  drew  near.  She  was  the 
centre,  standing  in  the  starlight,  her  rose  held  in 
her  hand. 

"  Lord,  'twas  a  strange  thing,"  said  Sir  Chris 
topher,  thoughtfully,  "  that  a  man  could  disap 
pear  like  that  and  leave  no  trace — no  trace." 

"  Has — all  enquiry — ceased  ?  "  her  Grace  asked, 
quietly. 

"  There  was  not  much  even  at  first,  save  from 
his  creditors,"  said  Lord  Charles,  with  a  laugh. 

"  Ay,  but  'twas  strange,"  said  old  Sir  Christo 
pher.  u  I've  thought  and  thought  what  could 
have  come  of  him.  Why,  Clo,  thou  wast  the  one 
who  saw  him  last.  What  dost  thou  think?" 

In  the  park  below  there  was  a  sudden  sweet 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      453 

swelling  of  the  music :  the  dancers  had  joined  in 
with  their  voices. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Duchess,  "  'twas  I  who  saw 
him  last."  And  for  a  few  seconds  all  paused  to 
listen  to  the  melody  in  the  air.  But  Sir  Christo 
pher  came  back  to  his  theme. 

"  What  sort  of  humour  was  the  man  in?"  he 
asked.  "  Did  he  complain  of  's  lot  ?  " 

Her  Grace  hesitated  a  second,  as  one  who 
thought,  and  then  shook  her  head. 

"  No,"  she  answered,  and  no  other  word. 

"  Did  he  speak  of  taking  a  journey?"  said  Lady 
Betty. 

And  the  Duchess  shook  her  head  slow  again, 
and  answered  as  before,  "  No." 

And  the  music  swelled  with  fresh  added  voices, 
and  floated  up  gayer  and  more  sweet. 

"Was  he  dressed  for  travel?"  asked  Lord 
Charles,  he  being  likely  to  think  first  of  the  mean 
ing  of  a  man's  dress. 

"  No,"  said  her  Grace. 

And  then  my  lord  Duke  drew  near  behind  her, 
and  spoke  over  her  shoulder. 

"  Did  he  bid  you  any  farewell?"  he  said. 

She  had  not  known  he  was  so  close,  and  gave 
a  great  start  and  dropped  her  rose  upon  the  ter 
race.  Before  she  answered,  she  stooped  herself 
and  picked  it  up. 

"  No,"  she  said,  very  low.     "  No  ;  none." 


454       HI$   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

"  Then/'  his  Grace  said,  "  I  will  tell  you  what  / 
think." 

"  You  ! "  said  my  Lady  Betty.  "  Has  your 
Grace  thought?" 

"  Often,"  he  answered.  "  Who  has  not,  at  some 
time  ?  1 — knew  more  of  the  man  than  many. 
More  than  once  his  life  touched  mine." 

"  Yours!"  they  cried. 

He  waved  his  hand  with  the  gesture  of  a  man 
who  would  sweep  away  some  memory. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  ;  "  once  I  saw  the  end  of  a  poor 
soul  he  had  maddened,  and  'twas  a  cruel  thing." 
He  turned  his  face  towards  his  wife. 

"  The  morning  that  he  left  your  Grace,"  he  said, 
"  'tis  my  thought  he  went  not  far" 

"  Not  far?"  the  party  exclaimed,  but  the  Duch 
ess  joined  not  in  the  chorus. 

"  Between  Dunstanwolde  House  and  his  lodg 
ings,"  he  went  on,  "  lie  some  of  the  worst  haunts 
in  London.  He  was  well  known  there,  and  not  by 
friends  but  by  enemies.  Perchance  some  tortured 
creature  who  owed  him  a  bitter  debt  may  have 
lain  in  wait  and  paid  it." 

The  Duchess  turned  and  gazed  at  him  with 
large  eyes. 

"  What — "  she  said,  almost  hoarsely,  "  what  do 
you  mean?" 

"  There  were  men,"  he  answered,  gravely — "  hus 
bands,  fathers,  and  brothers — there  were  women 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE       455 

he  had  driven  to  despair  and  madness,  who  might 
well  have  struck  him  down." 

"  You  mean,"  said  her  Grace,  almost  in  a  whis 
per,  "  you  mean  that  he — was  murdered  ?  " 

"  Nay,"  he  replied,  "not  murdered — struck  a 
frenzied  blow  and  killed,  and  it  might  have  been 
by  one  driven  mad  with  anguish  and  unknowing 
what  he  did." 

Her  Grace  caught  her  breath. 

"  As  'twas  with  the  poor  man  I  told  you  of," 
she  broke  forth  as  if  in  eagerness,  "  the  one  who 
died  on  Tyburn  Tree  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  was  his  answer. 

"  Perhaps— you  are  right,"  she  said,  and  passed 
her  hand  across  her  brow  ;  "  perhaps— you— are 
right." 

"  But  there  was  found  no  trace,"  Sir  Christo 
pher  cried  out;  "no  trace." 

"  Ah !  "  said  my  lord  Duke,  slowly,  "  that  is  the 
mystery.  A  dead  man's  body  is  not  easy  hid." 

The  Duchess  broke  forth  laughing —  almost 
wildly.  The  whole  group  started  at  the  sound. 

"  Nay,  nay  !  "  she  cried.  "  What  dark  things 
do  we  talk  of !  Sir  Christopher,  Sir  Christopher, 
'twas  you  who  set  us  on.  A  dead  man's  body  is 
not  easy  hid  !  " 

"  'Tis  enough  to  make  a  woman  shudder,"  cried 
Lady  Betty,  hysterically. 

"Yes,"  said  her  Grace.     "See,  I  am  shuddering 


456       HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

• — I,  who  am  built  of  Wildairs  iron  and  steel." 
And  she  held  out  her  hands  to  them — her  white 
hands  —  and  indeed  they  were  trembling  like 
leaves. 

The  evil  thing  they  had  spoke  of  had  surely 
sunk  deep  into  her  soul  and  troubled  it,  though 
she  had  so  laughed  and  lightly  changed  the  sub 
ject  of  their  talk,  for  in  the  night  she  had  an  awful 
dream,  and  her  lord,  wakened  from  deep  slumber 
— as  he  had  been  once  before — started  up  to  be 
hold  her  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  chamber — 
a  tall  white  figure  with  its  arms  outflung  as  if  in 
wild  despair,  while  she  cried  out  in  frenzy  to  the 
darkness. 

"  I  have  killed  thee— -I  have  killed  thee,"  she 
wailed,  "  though  I  meant  it  not — even  hell  itself 
doth  know.  Thou  art  a  dead  man — and  this  is  the 
worst  of  all !  " 

"  'Tis  a  dream,"  he  cried  aloud  to  her  and 
clutched  her  in  his  warm,  strong  arms.  "  'Tis  a 
dream — a  dream  !  Awake  ! — Awake  ! — Awake  !  " 

And  she  awoke  and  fell  upon  her  knees,  sobbing 
as  those  sob  who  are  roused  from  such  a  horror. 

"  A  dream  ! — a  dream  ! — a  dream  !  "  she  cried. 
"  And  'tis  you  awake  me !  You — Gerald — Ger 
ald  ! — And  I  have  been  ten  years — ten  years  your 
wife ! " 


CHAPTER  XXXII 
In  the  Turret  Chamber — and  in  Camylott  Wood 

WHEN  the  great  soldier  returned  to  Blenheim 
Castle,  his  Grace  of  Osmonde  bore  him  company 
and  having  spent  a  few  days  in  his  society  at  that 
great  house  returned  to  town,  from  whence  he 
came  again  to  Camylott. 

He  reached  there  on  a  heavenly  day,  which 
seemed  to  him  more  peaceful  and  more  sweet  than 
any  day  the  summer  had  so  far  brought,  though 
it  had  been  a  fair  one.  Many  days  had  been  bright 
and  full  of  flower-scent  and  rustling  of  green  leaves, 
and  overarched  by  tender  blueness  with  white 
clouds  softly  floating  therein,  but  this  one,  as  he 
rode,  he  thought  held  something  in  its  beauty 
which  seemed  to  make  the  earth  seem  nearer 
Heaven  and  Heaven  more  fair  to  lifted  mortal  eyes. 
He  thought  this  as  his  horse  bore  him  over  the 
white  road,  he  thought  it  as  he  rode  across  the 
moor,  'twas  in  his  mind  as  he  passed  through  the 
village  and  saw  the  white  cottages  standing  warm 
and  peaceful  in  the  sunshine,  with  good  wives  at 
the  doors  or  at  their  windows,  and  children  play- 
ing  on  the  green,  who  stopped  and  bobbed  courte 
sies  to  him  or  pulled  their  forelocks,  grinning. 

457 


458       HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

Joan  Bush  was  at  her  gate  and  stepped  out  and 
dipped  a  courtesy  with  appealing  civility. 

"Your  Grace,"  she  said,  "  if  I  might  make  so 
bold — poor  Mistress  Anne — "  And  having  said 
so  much  checked  herself  in  much  confusion.  "  I 
lose  my  wits,"  she  said ;  "  your  Grace's  pardon. 
Your  Grace  has  been  to  town  and  but  now 
comes  back,  and  will  not  know.  But  we  so 
love  the  kind  gentlewoman — "  and  she  mopped 
her  eyes. 

"  You  mean  that  Mistress  Anne  is  worse  ?  "  he 
said. 

"  The  poor  lady  fell  into  a  sudden  strange 
swoon  but  an  hour  ago,"  she  answered.  "  My 
Matthew,  who  was  at  the  Tower  of  an  errand  said 
she  came  in  from  the  flower-garden  and  sank  life 
less.  And  the  servants  who  carried  her  to  her 
chamber  say  'twas  like  death.  And  she  hath  been 
so  long  fading.  And  we  know  full  well  the  end 
must  come  soon." 

My  lord  Duke  rode  on.  A  fulness  tightened 
his  throat  and  he  looked  up  at  the  blue  sky. 

"  Poor  Anne  !  Kind  Anne  !  "  he"  said.  "  Pure 
heart !  I  could  think  'twas  for  the  passing  of  her 
soul  the  day  was  made  so  fair." 

At  the  park  gates  the  woman  from  the  lodge 
stood  at  her  door  and  made  her  obeisance  tear 
fully.  She  was  an  honest  soul  to  whom  her 
Grace's  sister  seemed  a  saint  from  Heaven. 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      459 

"  What  is  the  last  news?"  said  my  lord  Duke, 
speaking  more  from  kindness  than  aught  else. 

"  That  the  dear  lady  lies  in  her  bed  in  the  Tur 
ret  chamber  and  her  Grace  watches  with  her 
alone.  Oh,  my  lord  Duke,  God  calls  another 
angel  to  Himself  this  day!" 

The  very  air  was  still  with  a  strange  stillness. 
The  Tower  itself  rose  white  and  clear  against  the 
blue  as  though  its  battlements  and  fair  turrets 
might  be  part  of  the  Eternal  City.  This  strange 
fancy  passed  through  his  Grace's  mind  as  he  rode 
towards  it.  The  ivy  hung  thick  about  the  window 
of  Anne's  chamber  in  the  South  Tower.  'Twas  a 
room  she  loved  and  had  spent  long,  peaceful  days 
in,  and  had  fitted  as  a  little  shrine.  Her  loving- 
ness  had  taught  her  to  feed  the  doves  from  it,  and 
they  had  grown  to  be  her  friends  and  companions, 
and  now  a  little  cloud  of  them  flew  about  and 
lighted  on  the  turrets  and  clung  to  the  festoons  of 
ivy,  and  flew  softly  about  as  if  they  were  drawn 
to  the  place  by  some  strange  knowledge  and 
waited  for  that  which  was  to  come  to  pass.  Two 
or  three  sate  upon  the  deep  window-ledge  and 
cooed  as  if  they  told  those  not  so  near  what  they 
could  see  inside  the  quiet  room. 

On  the  terrace  below  the  elder  children  stood 

> 

John  and  Gerald  and  Daphne  and  Anne.  They 
waited  too,  as  the  doves  did,  and  their  young 
faces  were  lifted  that  they  might  watch  the  win- 


460       HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDfi 

dovv,  and  they  were  very  sweet  and  gravely  ten 
der  and  unafraid  and  fair. 

When  their  father  drew  near  them  'twas  the 
child  Daphne  who  spoke,  putting  her  hand  in  his 
and  meeting  his  eyes  with  a  lovely  look. 

"  Father,"  she  said,  "  we  think  that  Mother  Anne 
lies  dying  in  her  room.  We  are  not  afraid  ;  mother 
has  told  us  that  to  die  is  only  as  if  a  bird  was  let 
to  fly  out  into  the  blue  sky.  And  mother  is  with 
her,  and  we  are  waiting  because  we  think — per 
haps — we  are  not  sure — but  perhaps  we  might  see 
her  soul  fly  out  of  the  window  like  a  white  bird. 
It  seems  as  if  the  doves  were  waiting  too." 

My  lord  Duke  kissed  her  and  passed  on. 

"  You  may  see  it,"  he  said,  gently.  "  Who 
knows — and  if  you  see  it,  sure  it  will  be  white." 

And  he  went  quietly  through  the  house  and  up 
the  staircase  leading  to  Anne's  tower-chamber, 
and  the  pretty  apartment  her  Grace  had  prepared 
for  her  so  lovingly  to  spend  quiet  hours  in  when 
she  would  be  alone.  This  apartment  led  into  the 
chamber,  but  now  it  was  quite  empty,  for  the 
Duchess  was  with  her  sister,  who  lay  on  the  bed 
in  the  room  within,  where  the  ivy  hung  in  festoons 
about  the  high  window,  which  seemed  to  look  up 
into  the  blue  sky  itself  and  shut  out  all  the  earth 
below  and  only  look  on  Heaven. 

To  enter  seemed  like  entering  some  sacred 
shrine  where  a  pure  saint  lay,  and  upon  the  thresh- 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE      461 

old  his  Grace  lingered,  almost  fearing  to  go  in 
and  break  upon  the  awful  tenderness  of  this  last 
hour,  and  the  last  words  he  heard  the  loving 
creature  murmuring,  while  the  being  she  had  so 
worshipped  knelt  beside  her. 

"  'Twas  love,"  he  heard,  "  'twas  love.  What 
matter  if  I  gave  my  soul  for  you?" 

He  drew  back  with  a  quick  sad  beat  of  the 
heart.  Poor,  tender  soul — poor  woman  who  had 
loved  and  given  no  sign — and  only  in  her  dying 
dared  to  speak. 

And  then  there  came  a  cry — and  'twas  the  voice 
of  her  he  loved — and  he  stood  spellbound.  Twas 
a  cry  of  anguish — of  fear — of  horror  and  dismay. 
'Twas  her  voice  as  he  had  heard  it  ring  out  in  the 
blackness  of  her  dream — her  dear  voice  harsh 
with  woe  and  broken  into  moaning — her  dear 
voice  which  he  had  heard  murmuring  love  to  him 
—crooning  over  her  children — laughing  like  mu 
sic  !  And  the  torrent  of  words  which  she  poured 
forth  made  his  blood  cold,  and  yet  as  they  fell 
upon  his  ear  he  knew — yes,  now  he  knew — revealed 
no  new  story  to  him,  even  though  it  had  been 
until  that  hour  untold.  No,  'twas  not  new,  for 
through  many  an  hour  when  he  had  marked  the 
shadow  in  her  eyes  he  had  vague  guessed  some 
fatal  burden  lay  upon  her  soul — and  had  striven 
to  understand. 

"And  then   I   struck  him   with    my  whip,"  he 


462       HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

heard,  "  knowing-  nothing,  not  seeing,  only  strik 
ing  like  a  goaded,  dying  thing.  And  he  fell — he 
fell — and  all  was  done." 


None  heard  or  saw  my  lord  Duke  when,  later, 
he  passed  out  from  the  empty  room.  He  went 
forth  into  the  fair  day  again,  and  through  the 
Park  and  into  Camylott  Wood.  The  deep  amber 
light  was  there,  and  the  gold-green  stillness,  and 
he  passed  onward  till  he  reached  the  great  wood's 
depths,  and  stood  beneath  an  oak-tree's  broad- 
spread  branches,  leaning  his  back  against  the 
huge  rough  trunk,  his  arms  folded. 

This  was  her  secret  burden — this.  And  Nature 
had  so  moulded  him  that  he  could  look  upon  it 
with  just,  unflinching  eyes,  his  soul  filled  with  a 
god-like,  awful  pity. 

In  a  walled-in  cellar  in  the  deserted  Dunstan- 
wolde  House  lay,  waiting  for  the  call  of  Judg 
ment  Day,  a  handful  of  evil  dust  which  once  had 
been  a  man — one  whose  each  day  of  life  from  his 
youth  upward  had  seemed,  as  it  had  passed,  to 
leave  black  dregs  in  some  poor  fellow-creature's 
cup.  One  frantic,  unthinking  blow  struck  in 
terror  and  madness  had  ended  him  and  all  his 
evil  doing,  but  left  her  standing  frenzied  at  the 
awfulness  of  the  thing  which  had  fallen  upon  her 
soul  in  her  first  hour  of  Heaven.  And  all  her 
being  had  risen  in  revolt  at  this  most  monstrous 


HIS    GRACE   OF   OSMONDE       463 

woe  of  chance,  and  in  her  torture  she  had  cried 
out  that  in  that  hour  she  would  not  be  struck 
down. 

"  Of  ending  his  base  life  I  had  never  thought," 
he  had  heard  her  wail,  "  though  I  had  thought  to 
end  my  own.  But  when  Fate  struck  the  blow 
for  me,  I  swore  that  carrion  should  not  taint  my 
whole  life  through." 

To  atone  for  this  she  had  lived  her  life  of 
passionate  penance.  Remembering  this,  she  had 
prayed  Heaven  strike  and  blight  her,  in  fear  that 
she  herself  should  blight  the  noble  and  the  in 
nocent  things  she  loved.  And  while  she  had 
thought  she  bore  the  burden  all  alone,  the  gentle 
sister,  who  had  so  worshipped  her,  had  known 
her  secret  and  borne  it  with  her  silently.  In  dy 
ing  she  had  revealed  it,  with  trembling  and  pite 
ous  love,  and  this  my  lord  Duke  had  heard,  and 
her  pure  words  as  she  had  died. 

"  Anne  !  Anne  !  "  the  anguished  voice  had 
cried.  "  Must  he  know — my  Gerald  ?  Must  I 
tell  him  all  ?  If  so  I  must,  I  will — upon  my 
knees !  " 

"  Nay,  tell  him  not,"  was  faintly  breathed  in 
answer.  "  Let  God  tell  him — who  understands." 

"  Tis  in  myself,"  my  lord  Duke  said  at  last, 
through  his  shut  teeth,  "  'tis  in  myself  to  have 
struck  the  blow ;  and  had  I  done  it  and  found  him 
lie  dead  before  me — in  her  dear  name  I  swear  and 


464      HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE 

in  a  new  shriven  soul's  presence,  for  sure  the 
pure  thing  is  near — I  would  have  hid  it  as  she 
has  done  ;  for  naught  should  have  torn  her  from 
me  !  And  for  her  sin,  if  sin  it  is  counted,  I  will 
atone  with  her ;  and  as  she  does  her  penance,  will 
do  mine.  And  if,  at  the  end  of  all  things,  she  be 
called  to  Judgment  Bar,  I  will  go  with  her  and 
stand  by  her  side.  For  her  life  is  my  life,  and 
her  soul  my  soul,  her  sentence  my  sentence ;  and 
being  her  love  I  will  bear  it  with  her,  and  pray 
Him  who  judges  to  lay  the  burden  heavier  upon 
me  than  upon  her." 

And  he  went  back  to  the  Tower  and  up  the 
stairway  to  the  turret-chamber,  and  there  Mistress 
Anne  lay  still  and  calm  and  sweet  as  a  child  asleep, 
and  flowers  and  fair  chaplets  lay  all  about  her 
white  bed  and  on  her  breast  and  in  her  small, 
worn  hands,  and  garlanded  her  pillow.  And  the 
setting  sun  had  sent  a  shaft  of  golden  glory 
through  the  window  to  touch  her  hair  and  the 
blossoms  lying  on  it. 

And  her  sister  stood  beside  her  and  looked 
down.  And  a  new  peace  was  on  her  face  when 
she  laid  her  cheek  upon  her  husband's  breast  as 
he  enfolded  her. 

"  She  is  my  saint,"  she  said.  "  To-day  she  has 
taken  my  sins  in  her  pure  hands  to  God  and  has 
asked  mercy  on  them." 


HIS   GRACE   OF   OSMONDE       465 

"And  so  having  done,  dear  Heart,"  he  answered 
her,  "  she  lies  amid  her  flowers,  and  smiles." 

But  of  that  he  had  overheard  he  said  no  word. 
And  if  as  time  passed  there  came  some  sacred 
hour  when,  their  souls  being  one,  there  could  be 
no  veil  not  rent  away  by  Love  and  Nature,  and 
the  secret  each  had  kept  was  revealed  to  the  other, 
'twas  surely  so  revealed  as  but  to  draw  them 
closer  and  fill  them  with  higher  nobleness,  for  no 
other  human  creature  heard  of  it  or  guessed. 

So  it  befel  that  one  man  met  his  deserts  by 
chance,  and  none  were  punished,  and  only  good 
grew  out  of  his  evil  grave.  And  should  there  be 
a  Power  who  for  strange,  high  reasons  calls  forth 
helpless  souls  from  peaceful  Nothingness  to  relent 
less  Life,  and  judges  all  Life  does  and  leaves 
undone,  'tis  surely  safe  to  trust  its  honesty  and 
justice. 


The  Works  of 
Mrs.  Frances  Hodgson  Burnett 

MRS.  BURNETT  AND  HER  WRITINGS 


"  Mrs.  Burnett  discovers  gracious  secrets  in  rough 
and  forbidding  natures — the  sweetness  that  often 
underlies  their  bitterness — the  soul  of  goodness  in 
things  evil.  She  seems  to  have  an  intuitive  percep 
tion  of  character.  If  we  apprehend  her  personages, 
and  I  think  we  do  clearly,  it  is  not  because  she 
describes  them  to  us,  but  because  they  reveal  them 
selves  in  their  actions.  Mrs.  Burnett's  characters 
are  as  veritable  as  Thackeray's." — R.  H.  STOUDARD. 

"We  have  no  hesitation  in  saying  that  there  is  no 
living  writer  (man  or  woman)  who  has  Mrs.  Bur 
nett's  dramatic  power  in  telling  a  story." 

—New   York  Herald. 

44  Mrs.  Burnett's  admirers  are  already  numbered  by 
the  thousands,  and  every  new  work  from  her  pen 
can  only  add  to  their  number." — Chicago  Tribune. 

44  She  is  undoubtedly  one  of  the  foremost  writers  of 
the  day,  any  one  of  whose  works  carries  with  it  de 
light,  power,  and  artistic  skill." — Philadelphia  Times. 


CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS,    PUBLISHERS 
153-157  FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK 


NOVELS   BY  MRS.   BURNETT 


His  Grace  of  Osmonde 

Being  the  Portions  of  that  Nobleman's  Life  omitted  in  the  Relation  of 
his  Lady's  Story,  presented  to  the  World  of  Fashion  under  the  Title 
of  "A  Lady  of  Quality."  I2mo,  $1.50. 

Mrs.  Burnett's  striking  and  successful  novel  of  last  year  has  just  been  followed 
by  a  novel  even  more  remarkable,  in  that  it  marks  what  is  probably  a  unique  experi 
ment  in  fiction.  There  have  been  sequels  and  very  successful  sequels;  but  this 
novel  is  not  a  sequel,  but  in  the  fullest  sense  a  companion,  being  the  man's  side  of  a 
story  of  which  the  woman's  side  has  already  been  told  in  "A  Lady  of  Quality." 


A  Lady  of  Quality 

Being  a  most  curious,  hitherto  unknown  history,  related  to  Mr.  Isaac 
Bickerstaff ,  but  not  presented  to  the  World  of  Fashion  through  the 
pages  of  The  Tattler,  and  now  for  the  first  time  written  down  by 
FRANCES  HODGSON  BURNETT.  i2mo,  $1.50. 

"  The  plot  is  excellent,  and  an  unflagging  interest  is  maintained  from  the  first 
page  to  the  very  last.  The  character  of  Clorinda — the  wild,  wilful  child,  the  beauti 
ful  Mistress  Wildairs,  the  comparatively  excellent  Countess  of  Dunstanwolde,  the 
superlatively  noble  Duchess  of  Osmonde — is  drawn  with  great  originality  and  won 
derful  vigor."— TJie  Critic. 


The  One  I  Knew  the  Best  of  All 

A  Memory  of  the  Mind  of  a  Child.     Richly  and  fully  illustrated  by 
R.  B.  BIRCH.     I2mo,  handsomely  bound,  gilt  top,  $2.00. 

MRS.  KATE  DOUGLAS  WIGGIN.— "  This  '  Memory  of  the  Mind  of  a 
Child '  has  the  engaging  candor  and  transparency  of  all  sincere  autobiography,  yet 
it  is  revealed  with  such  exquisite  delicacy  and  absence  of  self-consciousness  that  we 
forget  that  the  child  heroine  is  Mrs.  Burnett  in  youth." 


The  Pretty  Sister  of  Jose 

With  12  illustrations  by  C.  S.  REINHART.     I2mo,  $1.00. 

"  This  proud  and  self-willed  little  Spanish  beauty,  with  her  fierce  scorn  of  all 
love  and  lovers,  and  her  cruel  coquetry,  is  a  charming  heroine,  not  unknown  to  us, 
indeed,  by  other  names  in  other  novels,  but  abundantly  welcome  thus  freshly, 
brightly,  and  vividly  individualized  for  us  again  by  Mrs.  Burnett.  The  story  is 
swiftly  and  dramatically  told  with  all  the  freedom  and  sureness  of  a  skilful  outline 
drawing.  Perfect  art  was  necessary  to  its  effective  telling."— Boston  Advertiser. 


NOVELS   BY   MRS.   BURNETT 


That  Lass  o'  Lowrie's 

I2mo,  $1.25. 

"We  know  of  no  more  powerful  work  from  a  woman's  hand  in  the  English 
language,  not  even  excepting  the  best  of  George  Eliot's."— Boston  Transcript. 

Haworth's 

Illustrated.     I2mo,  $1.25. 

"  A  product  of  genius  of  a  very  high  order." — New  York  Evening  Post. 
"One  of  the  few  great  American  novels." — Hartford  Courant. 

Through  One  Administration 

I2mo,  $1.50. 

"As  a  study  of  Washington  life,  dealing  largely  with  what  might  be  called  social 
politics,  it  is  certainly  a  success.     As  a  society  novel  it  is  indeed  quite  perfect." 

— The  Critic. 

Louisiana 

I2mo,  $1.25. 

"  A  delightful  little  story,  original  and  piquant  in  design,  and  carried  out  with 
great  artistic  skill." — Boston  Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 

A  Fair  Barbarian 

I2mo,  paper,  50  cents  ;  cloth,  $1.25. 

"  If  a  more  amusing  or  clever  novelette  than  '  A  Fair  Barbarian '  has  ever  been 
given  to  the  American  public,  we  fail  to  recall  it."— Pittsburgh  Telegraph. 

Surly  Tim,  and  Other  Stories 

I2mo,  $1.25. 
"  Uncommonly  vigorous  and  truthful  stories  of  human  nature." 

—Chicago  Tribune. 

Vagabondia:   A  Love  Story 

I2mo,  paper,  50  cents  ;  cloth,  $1.25. 

"One  of  the  sweetest  love  stories  ever  written." — Brooklyn  Eagle. 
"A  charming  love  story  in  Mrs.  Burnett's  brightest  and  most  winning  style." 

—New  York  Herald. 

Earlier  Stories 

First  Series — Comprising  Theo,  Miss  Crespigny,  and  Lindsay's  Luck. 
Second  Series — Comprising  Pretty  Polly  Pemberton,  and  Kathleen. 
Each,  I2tno,  paper,  50  cents  ;  cloth,  $1.25. 

"  Each  of  these  narratives  has  a  distinct  spirit.     They  are  told  not  only  with 
true  art  but  with  deep  pathos." — Boston  Post. 


JUVENILES   BY   MRS.    BURNETT 


Two  Little  Pilgrims'  Progress 

A  Story  of  the  City  Beautiful.     With  many  illustrations  by  R.  B. 
BIRCH.     i2mo,  $1.25. 

"  The  day  we  first  read  it  will  stand  ever  after  among  the  red-letter  days  of  life. 
It  is  a  story  to  be  marked  with  a  white  stone,  a  strong,  sweet,  true  book,  touching 
the  high-water  mark  of  excellence."— MRS.  MARGARET  E.  SANGSTER. 

Little  Lord  Fauntleroy 

Beautifully  illustrated  by  R.  B.  BIRCH.     i2mo,  $1.25. 

"In  'Little  Lord  Fauntleroy'  we  gain  another  charming  child  to  add  to  our 
gallery  of  juvenile  heroes  and  heroines ;  one  who  teaches  a  great  lesson  with  such 
truth  and  sweetness  that  we  part  from  him  with  real  regret." — LOUISA  M.  ALCOTT. 

"  It  is  a  classic,  challenging  the  best,  equalled  by  none." — Philadelphia  Times. 

Sara  Crewe  and  Little  Saint  Elizabeth 

and  Other  Stories.     Richly  and  fully  illustrated  by  R.  B.  BIRCH. 
I2mo,  $1.25. 

"  '  Sara  Crewe  '  is  a  story  to  linger  over  in  the  reading,  it  is  so  brightly,  frankly, 
sweetly,  and  tenderly  written,  and  to  remember  and  return  to.  In  creating  her  little 
gentlewoman,  'Sara  Crewe,'  so  fresh,  so  simple,  so  natural,  so  genuine,  and  so  in 
domitable,  Mrs.  Burnett  has  added  another  child  to  English  fiction." 

— R.  H.  STODDARD. 

"The  four  stories  [in  '  Little  Saint  Elizabeth  ']  are  different  in  kind,  but  alike  in 
grace  and  spirit." — SUSAN  COOLIDGE. 

"  '  Little  Saint  Elizabeth  '  is  one  of  the  most  winning  and  pathetic  of  Mrs.  Bur 
nett's  child  heroines.  The  fairy  tales  which  follow  her  history,  retold  from  a  lost 
fairy  book,  are  quite  charming." — The  A  thenceum. 

Giovanni  and  the  Other 

Children  who  have  made  Stories.     With  9  full-page  illustrations  by 
R.  B.  BIRCH.     i2mo,  $1.25. 

"Stories  beautiful  in  tone,  and  style,  and  color." — KATE  DOUGLAS  WIGGIN. 

"They  are  fresh,  pretty  stories,  mostly  about  children  whom  the  author  has 
known.  All  of  them  are  charmingly  told.  The  volume  is  beautifully  bound  and 
illustrated." — The  Advance. 

Piccino 

And  Other  Child  Stories.     Fully  illustrated  by  R.  B.  BIRCH.     I2mo, 
$1.25. 

"The  history  of  Piccino's  'two  days'  is  as  delicate  as  one  of  the  anemones 
that  spring  in  the  rock  walls  facing  Piccino's  Mediterranean.  .  .  .  The  other 
stories  in  the  book  have  the  charm  of  their  predecessor  in  material  and  manner." 

—MRS.  BURTON  HARRISON. 


CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 

153-157  FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK 


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